Know I Am (Going To Stay Right Here)
by WhoCaresAboutPeopleBooksExist
Summary: She speaks to me constantly, whispering deadly secrets in my ear. It's been happening ever since "the incident." It's ruining me, tearing me down and stealing my youth. Sometimes, I swear she's there. Just talking to me casually. But then I remember what happened and then it scares me. And she. Won't. Shut. Up. AU EClare.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This story has been in the works since October 22, 2013 and throughout those months, I have spent time carefully constructing the chapters. Now that the writers for Degrassi are trying to tear all of our hearts out with ruining two of its staple couples, I feel it's time to publish this thing. There is going to be a total of ten chapters for this story and each chapter will have a few lines from a Wakey!Wakey! song. It is not vital to listen to the songs beforehand, but if you enjoy the idea of music setting the proper mood, find the songs and press play.

The story title itself is a line from a Wakey!Wakey! song ("Light Outside") and I do suggest trying out that song before you read this story.

Chapters of Know I Am will be published bimonthly with the final chapter hopefully being published May 15/16 of this year. This first chapter is fairly short, but I promise you, the chapters get longer and longer. Some even going above 30 pages. If you take pleasure in reading long stories, I guess this is the thing for you. If not, just imagine what happens after this first chapter.

Elijah Goldsworthy is a delicate character that I may or may not have written him well. If you have suggestions for how to better write him in the future (because I've already written this thing and I don't want to have to go back and change everything) please PM me. Reviews are welcome, but if they are just to cruelly criticise me, please rethink before posting. I am human and do not take kindly to people bashing me for the sake of their own satisfaction. If you don't like, just go away.

With that said, please enjoy the first installment of Know I Am (Going To Stay Right Here).

We begin during the final few scenes of All Falls Down Pt. 2. Eli and Fitz are having a Mexican standoff with the third party (Clare) standing by and waiting to intervene should anything happen. When Mark Fitzpatrick forgoes his original plan to simply scare Eli, the lives of the three people in that hallway are changed forever.

**Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN DEGRASSI OR LYRICS WRITTEN BY THE BAND WAKEY!WAKEY! **

* * *

_Chapter 1_

_At least you were thrown clear, _

_cause I'm still stuck in here._

_And I'm still stuck._

"Car Crash" by Wakey!Wakey!

The knife goes in, pinching my flesh. I feel the stinging stretch of my skin as it pulls out and I vaguely hear it clap to the ground. Clare screams loudly, her shrill shriek filling the halls with its terror as she slides down next to me.

I look at her and see pain written in her eyes. She's shaking me and I'm entranced by her lips as they move: open and close, but I don't hear anything. Everything rings, filling my head with sparks and flashes. Bursting phosphene lights dance in my vision, clouding even Clare from view.

It slips through my mind that Fitz has disappeared, but I try and focus on Clare as she clings to me. Through my fading eyesight I see her hands coated in a red smoke and she's trembling as tears fall from her eyes.

My mouth opens and I breathe out, trying to tell her something. Something - God! what is it I'm trying to _say_? Nothing comes out and it all becomes unbearable. The throbbing in my shoulder, the ringing in my ears, and I let everything go black.

_"Eli!"_

* * *

I hear her calling my name. Her voice is getting clearer with each passing second and I can feel an underlying sense of security as her cry floats through my ears. I never believed in any God or any form of afterlife, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe Clare was right and I'm on my way to see _her_. To hold her and finally tell her how utterly _sorry_ I am. Sorry that I abandoned her. That I fell for someone else.

A dull ache beginning at my left shoulder and licking its way through my chest is the thing that finally pulls me down.

My eyes slowly begin to slide open, but suddenly shut again. The sun burns like fire. I can hear someone moving beside me, clearly disturbed by my awakening.

I jolt upright, peeling my eyes open, only to have someone gently push me back down. I yelp in pain as a blaze spreads through me, bile rising in my throat. I swallow and do my best not to throw up.

Things I notice: this is not my bedroom. These are not my clothes. Julia is not here.

I look over to the person next to me.

"Mom," I croak out, my throat dry and scratched from underuse. Or overuse. I'm not entirely sure which one.

"Oh, baby." I see the inner turmoil in her face as she stops herself from flinging her arms around me. Good call, probably. Instead, she takes my hand. Carefully, she unclasps the tight fist I hadn't realised I was making and slides her fingers between mine. A warmth spreads through me as my mind attempts to clear away the heavy fog. "Are you okay?" She asks after a few seconds of staring worriedly at my face. I gently nod and she begins rubbing her thumb against the back of my hand.

I revel in this feeling. This comfort that only a mother can bring.

More seconds, minutes, pass in the silence and I can't stop my brain from rotating around what happened.

Fitz towering above me, a knife glinting moonlight in his hand. Clare at my side, tugging nervously at her dress. The anger and hatred burning in his eyes as he plunged the-

"Eli," my thoughts are disrupted and I see CeCe's face etched in concern. Wet tears slide down my face and I attempt to wipe them, but my arms hurt too much to move. She reaches out and slicks her thumbs against my cheeks, leaning in to kiss my forehead. "There's someone waiting for you," she leans her nose against mine and for the briefest moment, my mind still in a daze, I think she's talking about Julia.

But she's dead. She has been for a long time.

My heart sinks, but I nod anyway.

"I'll go get her," and with that, I am left with my thoughts and the ache in my shoulder.

The hospital room is small. And clean. And white.

I hate it.

"Elijah," it is a breathless call and I feel my heart speed up at the sound. I almost forgot what she looked like. What she sounded like. I almost forgot how she could make me feel. The monitor by my bed begins beeping erratically. _Stop it_.

I look up through my eyelashes. She's stopped in the doorframe, a horrorstricken stare in place.

I can't smile. I can't talk. My mouth muscles are frozen.

"I'll leave you two alone," I hadn't registered the fact that CeCe had returned, but there she was, walking off.

"Elijah," she says it again. My full name. I never liked it, but when it slips from her mouth and out into the open air, my ears perk up. Clare moves over to me, her feet gliding swiftly against the disgustingly clean marble floor of the hospital.

All my brain registers while she pulls the singular chair in the room by the bedside is how beautiful she looks. Broken, yes, but utterly beautiful.

She searches my face for something, but must not find much because she looks down at her hands. I desperately want to grab them, but I probably can't.

"You look like hell," she murmurs the words and they sizzle off her tongue. Her eyes are still trained on her own skin. I try and chuckle or maybe just smirk at her statement, but I honestly _can not_. It's like everything got shut down. Like that bastard didn't just stab me in the arm, but dug that damn thing deep enough to sever all of my nerve endings. I can't feel a thing.

Except…except her. I can feel the girl sitting next to me. I can sense her nervousness. I can feel the jitters in my muscles start to increase as she abandons her obviously fascinating hands for my eyes and I stare mercilessly into hers. Trying to lose myself in the sky that is her gaze.

She interrupts it all by speaking the words I really just don't want to hear.

"Do you want to know what happened?" She says it so gravely and darkly that I'm not entirely positive it is even Clare Edwards sitting before me. Her usual cute outfits have been replaced by a dark jacket (it looks incredibly familiar) and loose-fitting jeans. Her eyes are sunken and have dark patches blotting below her lower lash line.

"That's mine," the words slip out before I can think about them, but it seems to distract her well enough.

"Yeah, I," she tugs nervously at the right sleeve, picking at the fraying fabric, "I stole it from you. Well, steal is a harsh word. I more accidentally took it. When you lent it to me one day at school when I was…cold ." She smiles nervously. Afraid, almost. _No!_

"I can give it back if you want," she says hurriedly, beginning to yank the zipper down.

"No, no, Clare," I attempt to say her name softly, but it comes out harsh. I try to move my smiling muscles, I try so damn hard, but they just won't budge. So I continue, opting for a lower voice, "It looks nice on you. Better than it did on me anyway." Everything sounds bitter. Like I'm forcing the words out. Which I suppose I am, but I don't want her to think I dislike talking to her. I watch as her face slowly falls even further than before.

Going against every screaming thought in my brain, I recklessly reach over to her with my good arm, forcing myself to twist into an extremely uncomfortable position, so I can grab ahold of her hands.

A shockwave goes through me as our fingers lace together and I shiver involuntarily, silently cursing whoever it was that put her in my life. My heart leaps into my throat at the disastrous thought and I scold myself for thinking such a thing.

Silence surrounds us like the heavy mist in my head and I am thankful that she seems to have dropped all efforts of conversation. I want to hold her in my arms so bad, but I can't. Her face is full of sorrow and weariness and I imagine I look the same. Probably worse.

"He got away." She says it suddenly and coldly. I choke on my breath, coughing. My shoulder throbs and throbs. I can't get air in my lungs, my mouth won't open enough. A panic attack. I am having a panic attack. I haven't had one since Julia died.

The pain in my chest rises and I am struggling for a proper breath. Clare has jumped up and has her hands on me. She's saying something. "Look…me. Eli, I need…you…me. Look…" But it's all jumbled together and I feel my brain get heavy and all I want to do is slump down and die. This world has nothing for me except for two parents and a frightened girl.

"Eli!" Clare's soft, breathy voice is in my ear and she's rocking me back and forth. One of her hands is twisted in my hair and the other is gripping my hand hard. Wait, no, I am gripping her hand. Her fingers are turning purple. I loosen my hold. "In and out. You can do it. In and out." I listen, focusing on her. In and out. In and out.

Eventually I calm down and can breathe properly, but Clare has refused to let go. I cling to her, my hands holding her elbows. I refuse to give into the pain in my shoulder, allowing myself the slight pleasure of inhaling her familiar scent mixed with my own.

It smells like home, the new home I created in allowing myself to let her in. Quiet sobs wrack through her body and I feel hot tears drip on my cheeks, but they aren't my own.

I separate myself from Clare and see her bloodshot eyes filled with wetness. She mumbles an apology and wipes my face with the tissue held firmly between her fingers.

I hold her hand on my cheek, grabbing the tissue from her in order to enjoy the feel of her skin on mine. Because I know that the minute I let her go, we will have to talk about it. _It._ That stupid, stupid thing.

I know what happened. Fitz stabbed me. He called Clare a bitch. He ran away. He hasn't been found. I now must fear for my life in more than one way.

Now I need to worry about him being around the corner, ready to finish the job. He _will_ try and finish the job. I no longer have to just fret about my own mental state and my own thoughts of ending my life, but I have to add to the insane mess the possibility of being murdered.

I know what happened.

And I want to forget.

So I hold Clare's hand to my cheek as it warms my face and makes a slight blush creep up my neck. She strokes her pinky against my jaw and I close my eyes, a smile finally forming on my lips. A genuine, heartfelt smile. It hurts, but my body feel lighter.

I chance a look up at her.

Her eyes are trained on me, clearer now than they were before. She's smiling, too, her teeth on display. I want to tell her I love her and thank her for being here before she returns to that shallow grave, but I don't want to talk. I don't want to taint this moment with words and feelings. I just want to be. I just want to _be_.

Eventually, a nurse comes in and asks how I am. Clare releases me. She saunters out of the room, promising me with her eyes that she will return.

On a scale of one to ten how do I feel, can I move my arm, am I tired, did I remember what happened, how's you're girlfriend doing, you're going to be okay, you'll be going home later today, there was no serious damage, he must have bad aim.

Yes, the nurse said that.

I nodded and answered questions when need be: Six (but it was really a ten), I can move it yes (but it hurts like hell), no (yes), I do remember (but I don't want to), she's okay (what do you think?), I know (I doubt it), sounds good (I don't want to go home), I'm glad (I wish he had gotten my heart), ha (I wish he had gotten my heart).

She checks my IV and my heart monitor, takes my blood pressure, and tells me she'll be back with something to take my mind off of the pain. I had been out of it for a while.

I sit alone once again and think.

Well, now what?

Elijah Goldsworthy, prepare for a downward spiral.

Yes, that sounds about right.

* * *

**A/N 2: **What did ya think? Will you come back for more? I understand if you won't, truly. The first chapter isn't my shining glory. If you like it, and if you want to do such a thing, do all the favouriteing, following, and reviewing. As I said before, if you didn't like it, there's absolutely no point in telling me so unless it's constructive criticism. You and I have nothing to prove to one another.

Look out for the next chapter on the 15th of January!

And yes, before people tell me I'm spelling words wrong, I am British. I say b_**ee**_n instead of bin or ben (that's what my American brother-in-law makes fun of me most for) and I spell words with an **_s_** and an **_ou_** instead of a **_z_ **and a simple _**o**_. No worries, I'm not illiterate. A few words will be written the American/Canadian way (like mom instead of Mum) because when I hear the characters of the show talk, they're saying mOm not mUm and it's easier for me to get lost in their backstories if I write like that.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Yes, it isn't the 15th of January, I know. But I'm incredibly sick right now and I have a big exam on Wednesday so that means I'll be studying until then without enough time to work on this. To the few people who've read and enjoyed this, you're getting lucky.

I've never had the pleasure of being stabbed in the shoulder (or anywhere for that matter) and therefore my description of Eli's pain may not be good enough. Had he been diagnosed with cancer, I'd be able to write it more authentically, but that ain't the case.

So I gave Mark the wrong name in my authors note last chapter and I feel really stupid because I know it's Fitzgerald. I don't know what prompted me to write Fitzpatrick. I apologise for that silly mistake. Anyway, this chapter takes place the same day as last chapter with Eli, Clare, and his parents coming home from the hospital. Also, there's a little Panic! at the Disco reference in here. If you like the band I'm sure you'll catch it.

Oh, and hopefully the summary for this story will make a bit more sense in this chapter.

Okay, so, just enjoy reading. That's my goal here, to make you all happy. If I don't succeed, then you have my sincerest apologies.

Now, as I sit on my bed surrounded by tissues and study notes, I give you the second installment of Know I Am (Going to Stay Right Here). On with the show!

**Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN DEGRASSI OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS NOR DO I OWN LYRICS BY WAKEY!WAKEY!**

* * *

_'Cause I know . . . it's only just a matter of time  
Before these walls start crumbling, crumbling.  
See yeah, it's only just a matter of time,  
Before these walls start crumbling, crumbling.  
It's only just a matter of time  
Before these walls come tumbling, tumbling._

"The Oh Song" by Wakey! Wakey!

**_Chapter 2_**

Home.

Four walls, a roof, and a door.

An upstairs, a downstairs.

A kitchen, a living room, a bedroom.

Hell.

My arm is in an uncomfortable sling and I adjust it as I walk up to my house. It's begun to rub against my neck and I can feel my skin slowly wasting away. It's almost as bad as the actual stab wound. But hell, they've got me hopped up on so many drugs I'm surprised I can even walk in a straight line and form a coherent sentence.

One thing rides in my brain as we approach the house: I dread walking into my room.

I dread Clare seeing it.

She will see it eventually. She's following me through the threshold. I am not prepared. I will have to walk in there with her holding my hand so I can pull on clean clothes and get myself to the police department.

Because the police want to hear me prattle on about how some freak showed up to a school dance and stabbed me in the shoulder with a knife.

I mean, I poisoned his drink and helped get him arrested the first time around, but come on, a knife through the shoulder? Hardly a fair trade.

I walk up the stairs slowly, leading Clare up as well. Her footsteps are light compared to my heavy thumps. I smirk quietly in an attempt to calm down.

"Wait, wait," I say the words before I fully comprehend them, halting right outside my door. She stares at me, holding my hand limply. I squeeze and so does she, a small smile in place. It brightens her face up to the point that I don't want to let her in. This will destroy everything. She'll see how ruined and damaged I am. How deep my darkness truly goes.

"Eli, you need to get dressed," she cocks her head to the side and I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath. I can do this.

"Okay, just, I need my hand for this part."

She giggles, but let's go. I feel a cold wave hit as her soft skin departs mine.

"What is that?" Clare has come up next to me, resting her head on my shoulder, staring intently at the lock on my doorknob. **_Oh god, oh god, oh god. Just do it, Elijah! Do it._**

"A secret."

"A secret?" Her eyebrow quirks up and I realise I haven't kissed her in hours. Long, devastating hours. My breath probably isn't too nice, but I need to do this just in case. Because I've screwed up a lot lately. This will be the final blow to our beautifully constructed, glass relationship.

I turn to face her, grabbing her hand again. I lean in slowly and hear her breath hitch. Nerves rattle through me as I close my eyes and lightly place my lips on hers.

It's the briefest touch of flesh, a peck almost, but my body reacts as if it were the most powerful, passionate kiss. I buzz with electricity when I stand back up, nodding awkwardly and releasing her hand, readying myself.

I fiddle with the lock for a second before I hear a click. I place my fingers on the cold metal and twist slowly. Then I stop. I can't do this. I can't let her see this side of me. It'll only scare her away and that is not a possibility for me right now. I need her to stick with me.

Everything is quiet as she waits for me patiently. The only noise is my heartbeat thumping against my ribcage as it threatens to break loose.

I tentatively turn around, placing my hand on her shoulder. "It was a contender for one of the wonders of the world," I say in an attempt to lighten the mood. "It lost, though." I hear her breathless giggle, the one that I adore to the point of worrying about how much I adore it. For a moment I feel as though I'm meeting her for the first time again. Because I remember that day fully now. When I heard the crunch beneath Morty's tyres and stopped to check I hadn't murdered something on my first day.

And there she was, breathtakingly beautiful. Sinfully so. With those blue eyes and curly hair. I was lost before I even knew her name. Called away by her effortless charm.

Her voice calling to me from the distance pulls me away from memory lane. "Are you going to open the door?" The question holds no annoyance, but rather drips with a sweetness only Clare Edwards can supply.

But I can't open that door. My secrets are my own and if I keep quiet, maybe I'll be able to keep her.

"You know what? No. It's messy," her eyebrows furrow and I smile sheepishly. "I wouldn't want you disgusted by my manly mess." The chortle I release sounds horribly forced.

"I've seen messy rooms before, Eli. Adam doesn't exactly know what the word 'clean' means," her voice is so soft that I almost give in and show her the scariness that lies beyond the door, but I can feel my throat begin to close at the thought and realise that having a panic attack in front of Clare twice in one day would be bad.

"Yeah, but I just don't want you to see, okay?" An unnecessary harsh wind echoes through the words and she looks almost hurt. **_No, stop it, Eli! You're pushing her away._** But maybe I need to. Maybe I need to push so I can stay safe. So we can both stay safe.

She gives in. "All right," she says softly, but her eyes land my door curiously one more time before she descends the staircase, the pitter-patter of her footsteps mirroring the thrumming of my heart.

I lean against my locked door and let my breath whoosh out and around me, letting it crowd around my thoughts. After a few short moments, I gather enough courage to gently push open my door that refuses to fully swing wide.

Sneaking my way through the slight crack, I allow darkness to engulf me just for a second. Just long enough to put walls up and protect everyone and everything from my destructive path. I peer longingly at each item in the room, the piles reaching the ceiling. Sometimes I doubt that each object in here means something, but the moment I even slightly think about throwing one of the items out, my mind wants to explode with an overwhelming sense of loss.

There is no clear path in here, signifying the dead end of my mind.

I hear my name being called trough the crack under the door and realise I've been wallowing longer than I originally planned. In a rush, I reach into the basket that holds all of my clean clothes and pull out something dark. A Dead Hand t-shirt and some jeans.

Running into the bathroom, I quickly change. I'm careful to avoid any further injury, only painfully knocking my right shoulder a couple times. With my good hand, I scrub at my face and brush my teeth.

Being left handed will take some getting used to.

When I'm finished, I stare at myself in the mirror. Pale lines of anguish crease around my mouth and eyes. I look dead. I look like Fitz has already returned and finished the job. I am hollow and broken. Unfixable. It all goes downhill from here.

A knock on the door pulls me from my darkening thoughts. "Eli?" It's Clare. Sweet, innocent Clare who deserves so much more than the bitter end of my emotions.

"Yeah?" I respond hoarsely. Clearing my throat carefully, I open the door and stick my head out. I almost jump back when I see Clare's head level with my own. Her eyes blow open and then shut immediately, her cheeks burning a pale crimson. I want to smile at this, but instead I stare blankly.

"Are you-" she breaks off, opening her eyes again. She shakes her head and clicks her tongue. "Areyounaked?" She rushes through the words and my poor brain takes a moment to comprehend them. Her blush goes deeper, spreading a thick layer of redness around the entirety of her face. She must notice my eyes light up because she buries her face in her hands.

I laugh deeply, throwing my head back dramatically. "No, Clara-Belle. I am not naked." She looks at me, redness rimming around her eyes. That's always fascinated me, the way her blush reaches her eyes. I fling the door open and watch as she bows her head back into her hands quickly, fearing my naked body.

"Come on, Clare. I'm not _that _ugly." I feel my smirk growing as she heaves a jittery laugh into her fingers. "Even if I were naked," her head snaps up as the words leave my mouth, "I bet you'd be staring." I wink and walk down the stairs, hearing her following me with light steps. I can almost feel the heat radiating from her body as I imagine that blush, which started innocently on her cheeks, spread all along her creamy white skin in blotches of red and pink.

When we reach the bottom of the steps, I remember why I had to change into these clothes. Why we're here.

Why.

Why.

Why.

I must have stopped because I feel Clare urging me forward with her finger and my shoulder starts aching with the sickening anticipation of going to the police department.

Clare's hand laces with mine and I attempt to find comfort in our connected fingers, but my stomach has begun to twist. It's like a spring, and with one wrong thought it could recoil. Throwing up would not be a very sexy thing to witness, though. And I kind of creepily want Clare to find me sexy.

The ride to the police department is quiet and heavy. I'm getting it now more and more, why most people can't stand the silence. There's just the rumbling of the tyres against the ground and the nearly inaudible breathing of everyone in here. I get that phrase in this moment, "the silence is deafening."

Somewhere next to me, Clare constantly switches from being captivated by the world outside the car window and me. Her eyes transition carefully from my face to the scattered trees and random people.

To keep the coil in my stomach tightly wound, I stare at Clare the entire way. I watch as her breathing speeds up and down depending on whether or not she's watching me. Her eyes are a grey blue today, the sky lacking its normal warmth and sunshine. The clouds skid past the sun, refusing to allow the warm ball of energy a chance in the spotlight. Almost as the sky knows the darkness of my soul.

Kidding.

But I can't deny that the hollow bleakness of the day mirrors my emotions perfectly. Except when Clare looks at me every now and again, probably checking to see I haven't passed out from lack of blood to the brain, I can sense the sun peering through the damned clouds and tickling my heart with its rays of light.

All too soon the police department comes in to my view and I begin to sweat. Everyone begins to unbuckle their seat belts, moving swiftly and with ease, but my mind is frozen. I stare blankly at the head of the seat in front of me, sensing when my eyes glaze over. I need to blink. No, I need to breathe.

"Eli," Clare, of course, stands by my now opened door, leaning her head down to look at me. Gosh, I feel that word will have no meaning soon. My own name for crying out loud.

I suck in a breath before returning her gaze, noticing her mouth quivering as if she has something to say. She must think better of it because she reaches over me, her shoulder touching my exposed collarbone. At first, I'm unaware of what she's trying to accomplish, but I hear the 'click' of my seatbelt being undone and then she's slowly sliding it off of me.

Anger at myself and partly at the beautiful girl flashes through my body as I realise that she, my girlfriend, just had to fucking unbuckle me from my seat. Because I was too frightened to move.

I figure she must sense my frustration because she wanders to me, clasping both of her hands over my left one. "You're not okay, Elijah. I know that. You have every right to be a little on edge. Let me help you, though. I gave my statement at the hospital. It wasn't that difficult. I can't be in there to hold your hand, but just think of me if you get too afraid.

"I don't want fear, Clare. I haven't felt this lost since Julia and this is only day one." She sighs audibly, blowing air down my neck as she rests her head on my shoulder. I lean my head against her own, admiring how perfectly we fit. Maybe it's not so bad being this short.

"We can get through this. Together."

And with that, we both let out our bated breaths and begin the decent in to Hell.

O-O-O

The walls are dark blue and soundproofed. Black, foamy squares line the walls in intricate patterns. I look at myself in the mirrored panel and wonder who's staring back at me, watching me, waiting for me to crack.

Because I know someone is there, dressed in a fancy suit, readied and waiting.

The detective groans angrily. He must've asked a question.

"Elijah I-"

I cut him off, "My name is Eli. Come on, buddy. We've covered this. _Eli_." I say it slowly, drilling into his small brain.

"Right, Eli. I'm trying to help you here. You need to cooperate."

"I've already done that," I snap, my free hand trembling as it lies dead in my lap underneath the cold, metal table. I'm a prisoner in here. "Mark Fitzgerald came at me with a knife, called my girlfriend a bitch, and dug me right here." I motion towards my damaged arm, trying to move it. It's too stiff, though. And it hurts.

"Okay, but what I'm trying to figure out is _why._ He can't have just made up his mind to stab you out of the blue." I stare at the social worker next to him whose face is bleak and tired. I imagine neither of them actually have a desire to be here with me, interrogating me.

"He's messed up. What other reason does he need?" I'm frustrated, but I refrain from banging my head against the table. Instead, I graze my fingers along the sharp edge, allowing the stinging feeling to sink into my sensitive skin, my blood seeking a release. _**Quit it, Eli. You stopped that a long time ago**._

I let out a sigh and eye the two men in front of me, silently cursing them both.

"I know there is more to it than that, Eli. Your girlfriend told us in her interrogation."

My heart threatens to stop beating.

Clare. They're talking about Clare. Angelic Clare. What did they say to make her talk? What did they do to her? Did they sit in front of her like they're sitting in front of me now? Did they yell big words at her, treating her like she was nothing more than a slip of paper and a paycheck?

**_Breathe, Eli._** I can almost hear Clare's voice in my head and imagine her seated next to me, stroking my hair and whispering words of comfort in my ear as I begin to speak. "He's a bully," I say simply, refusing both men the satisfaction of eye contact. "So I treated him like one." I vaguely hear the twisted humour in my voice and the rough scratch of chairs moving accompanied by a heavy vibration underneath me tells me they heard it too.

"What - uh - what do you mean?" It's the social worker, his big glasses sliding down his crooked nose. With a greasy hand he pushes them back up, gracing me with a smile.

"I may or may not have defended my best friend from him. You know, standing up to 'the man' and all." Only the social worker appears slightly amused by my air quotes. The detective just stares at me like he wants to finish the job Fitz started.

"So did you taunt him in any way? Provoke him enough to make him want to harm you?"

I jerk my head up and shoot a glare towards the detective. Keeping my voice low and venomous, I reply cautiously. "If that pathetic excuse for a human being knew his left from his right, he would have driven that knife straight into my heart. Did I provoke him enough?" I breathe and close my eyes, thinking carefully of Clare's face. The nice image I have in my brain quickly transforms into the one right before I blacked out, the one I fear will haunt my nightmares now, so I pop my eyes back open to continue. "Did I provoke him enough to stab me? In my personal opinion, no. I do not think I did enough to make him want to _kill_ me." Terror flows over me as the two men stare at each other, having a conversation with their eyes. They nod, a gentle look glinting behind their stony demeanors.

"Thank you, Mr. Goldsworthy, for your time. We may want to contact you again for further questioning, but I doubt we'll need any new information unless you remember something. Everything will be all right, sir." He pats me on the back and I desperately want to pull away, the contact stirring unwanted feelings of bleakness in my belly. I remain seated instead, nodding accordingly as he launches into a set of guidelines I should follow in case new information creeps back into my consciousness.

"Would you like to be escorted out?" The detective asks, holding a hand out towards the door. I shake my head and stand up alone, my chair scraping the ground in discontent.

Something, a thought, pulls at my mind. It starts off as a light tugging, gentle and calm. I can barely feel it. Steadily it grows, transforming from a slight pull to a powerful yank.

It's not the beginning of another headache.

I know because I've already got a massive migraine blinding me with white light.

It's a worry.

A singular worry.

It takes me until I reach the door ready to leave the interrogation room, before I feel the courage to confront it.

"Do you think he'll come back?" The detective and his greasy sidekick scowl at me confused. I clear my throat and try to clarify, "You know," I tug nervously at the back of my neck, "will he try to finish me off?"

"You know what son?" The detective smiles slightly, his face scrunching in a way that must not be comfortable. I wait for him to finish, awkwardly standing by the door. "We'll just have to wait and see."

Those words, as soon as they leave his mouth, send shivers down my spine and I can already feel myself in the beginning stages of vomiting. Cold sweat trickles down my back, my tongue feels like cotton in my mouth, everything swims in front of my eyes.

I give a curt nod and pull on the door, willing for it to open. A buzz is heard somewhere in the distance and with one last yank, I am free. I stumble through the dizzying hallways to find the nearest toilet.

A door branded with a little stick man wearing white is right in the center of my new tunnel vision and I race towards it. Somewhat aware of my damaged shoulder, I push the door open with my left. No one is in here and I'm thankful because I don't even have time to shut the stall door before I let everything that has ever been in my stomach out.

The acidic bile burns my throat. I can feel it eroding my flesh, burning down the last shreds of happiness I possessed.

It's done now, I suppose. I'm scared and beaten.

I stand up incredibly slow making sure to balance myself out before I flush my tranquility down the toilet. My head bangs against the side of the stall and I notice how utterly empty I am.

Does it all end here? Or does it all begin here?

I can argue for both.

Because at the moment, my life is ending. Every corner I turn will bring a new heart attack and eventually it will all become just too much and I'll collapse. Or maybe I'll be so terrified that I'll kill myself. And of course, Fitz may come back and end me. I can hide with Julia now, in the darkness of our shadows and once forgotten selves.

But at the same time, a new world is opening before me. One full of secrets and panic attacks. One where I have Clare to help me through, even if I never truly tell her my hidden mysteries.

Am I capable of ruining her with this, though? Her innocence blinds me sometimes. I find no appeal in tainting her. God, though, she twists and turns me around her little fingers without even knowing it.

Does she deserve the life I have to offer?

No.

And I definitely don't deserve her.

So as I stare at the sickly green walls of this bathroom stall, pondering the many questions sixteen year-old's do, I fight off the little voice in my head telling me I'm ruining her. I'm ruining her. I'm ruining her.

_You're ruining me. You're ruining me._

_Eli, you're forgetting me. _

I open my mouth to speak out loud, to tell the damned voice to leave me alone, but the bathroom door swings open and I'm no longer alone with my thoughts. I wash my hands in uncomfortable silence and leave.

When I step out, I notice the police department is in a rush. Officers and detectives and social workers and psychologists and criminals are bustling about, crowding around me, suffocating me.

A tint of blue in the ruckus catches me in my dizzying state and I turn my head, watching as Clare practically runs towards me. It's like in those cheesy romantic comedies she forces me to watch, except we are both still torn and this isn't the big reunion. I'll take it, though.

She reaches me breathless, her chest heaving and her face bright. "I need to exercise more," she says giggling.

I hold my breath for five seconds, counting them down in my head so I can look at her one last time before I fall completely downhill. I try to memorise the way she smiles when she looks at me, the way her eyes light up despite the heavy atmosphere that surrounds us. Her curls and their gentle frame, the softness of them bringing out the paleness of her complexion. She is perfection in its purest form and I am going to lose her.

"You're just fine, Clare. Perfect, even," I murmur. A blush creeps up to her cheeks and my smirk finds its place.

"How was it?" Her voice is breathy and light and her body twists as she speaks.

"I don't know if I'm allowed to say," I answer truthfully. And I'm glad they said I shouldn't say anything to anyone else because I sincerely don't want to talk about it right now.

"How would you feel about a date tonight? Like, a real one?" She asks out of the blue.

My chest tightens and I think I've started hearing things again, but Clare's looking at me with a hopeful smile on her face and a blush that any man would be a fool not to fall for. I can feel the nerves bite at me again and I try to cover up my shaking limbs by crossing my arms and enveloping my voice with sarcasm.

"A real date, huh?" I ask, an amused smile spreading like an eagle's wings across my face. "I don't know. I'm not sure if I'm ready to be seen in public with you just yet."

Clare playfully pats my good arm and the simple touch of her hand on even just the fabric of my shirt sends such an electric shock through me that I am almost afraid.

"It'll be fun. We need a night to-" she breaks, looking at the floor. I think she's about to say 'forget', but she restarts her whole sentence with a gushing swoop of air. "We need a night away."

"I will go," I say and she releases a dazzling smile, all of the darkness washed away. "But only if you promise to stay out later than eight with me."

"Ha," Clare's heavy sigh is the only noise I can pay attention to at the moment. It dances out into the building and blocks all the chaos out. "I think I'd rather stay with you than listen to my parents fight." Her eyes fall and I unthinkingly place my hand on her back, awkwardly tapping my fingers along her spine. She still smiles, though. Even if it's full of a new sadness.

I don't really know what goes on inside the Edwards' household, but if the look on Clare's face is any indication, then it must not be good. Her hand snakes its way around mine and I give her a reassuring squeeze, trying my best to smile supportively.

"We'll make a night of it, Clare, I promise." And I mean it. I want to do something fun with her before crazy comes to town. We can do everything and anything we feel like.

"What do you want to do?" Her eyelashes reach her cheeks as she bats them slowly and I'm unsure of whether this is meant to be flirtation or simply the result of a slow, tiring day.

"Hm, something. Definitely something."

Again, she whacks at my good arm softly. Is she flirting with me? It seems like it.

"Well, make up your mind and you can call me. Sound good?" Her voice dips low and she curls her lips into a devilish smile.

Yes, Clare, my God that sounds like the most wonderful plan in the whole entire world. We can go out, drink a few beers illegally, get wasted, head to a sleazy motel and make sweet, sweet love in the moonlight. Sweat dripping down our bodies, the hints of asbestos and formaldehyde assaulting our nostrils, legs entwined and bodes connected on the most intimate level.

"Eli," I tear my eyes from Clare's breasts. How did they get there? My eyes, not her breasts.

I shake my head and feel a heated blush rocket across my cheeks. Her voice is warm, though, not scolding. Although that unfortunately doesn't stop the uncomfortable itching in my trousers.

"Right, yes, Clare. A wonderful plan. Ready to go find CeCe and Bullfrog?" She nods her head slowly, stretching her arms behind her head, narrowly avoiding smacking a cop in the face. I laugh at her and she frowns, but we're both smiling on our way to find my parents. Despite the lightness of our conversation and in the midst of an extremely confusing day, I can already feel that heavy weight being placed on my thoughts.

O-O-O

Flowers? Check.

Blanket? Check.

Picnic basket? Check.

Freaking out? Double check.

I go over my mental check list as I wait for the door to the Edwards' house to magically open. Everything is planned for a romantic evening out on the town. Well, in a park.

They sent a message to all attendees at Degrassi. When break is over, there will be changes. Big ones. And I'm scared. Because I've never been good with change. It terrifies me and makes me want to melt. It's all happening now while Fitz continues to be AWOL. Everything's stirring up inside of me, culminating in a mass, like a giant tumor just waiting to spill its toxic cancer into my blood.

"Can I help you?" A woman, no older than forty, stands before me. She looks worn and angry, a streak of blonde lining her hair in an attempt to keep young. I smile slightly wishing I had a free hand to offer a handshake.

"Um, nice to meet you, Mrs. Edwards. My name is Elijah and I'm here to pick up Clare."

Mrs. Edwards' face grows from cool to livid very quickly and I take a very subtle step back from the doorframe.

"You're the boy from the hospital," she says it accusingly and I imagine her pointing a wrinkly finger at my chest. I nod my head in agreement with her statement. "Well, Elijah, I'm sorry, but Clare will not be going out anywhere tonight. Or tomorrow. Or any time during the break. I'm sorry to have ruined your plans."

She's about to shut the door in my face, which has fallen quite heavily, but I manage to snap my thoughts in order. "Can I at least give her these flowers?" The voice I use sounds desperate and lonely and I don't blame the woman when she shoots one last look of despair before closing the door forcefully.

I turn around and drop the flowers, bringing my hand to clutch my chest. I wheeze out a cough and feel the onset of a panic attack. Breathe, Eli. Just breathe.

"Eli!"

Oh, and shut that damn voice off in your head, dumb ass.

"Eli!"

It's a whisper, carried by the light breeze, not the voice in my head. Which has grown increasingly obnoxious since the whole getting stabbed thing occurred.

"Eli!"

There it is again, soft and sweet. _**Clare**._

"Clare!" I hiss, twisting my head around in search for the pure voice.

"Up here!" She exclaims excitedly and I turn around, lifting my chin up. And there she is, standing on a very unsafe looking balcony dressed in what is probably the most alluring, provocative thing she owns. The light blue hue of the loose fitting tank top matched with her ripped black jeans and boots almost makes me come undone just there. "Well, are you going to help me get down?"

I laugh and smile up at her. "Get down, Clare? There's no safe way to do this." My eyes must be bright and my smile must be wide because she narrows her eyes at me for just a second longer before giggling as well. A warming sensation spreads from my belly to my heart and I walk up to beneath the balcony. "Oh, hey, there's a little thingy that you can climb down."

"Thingy, Eli? What a marvelous display of verbal acuity," she mocks, swinging a leg over the banister. Oh, God, if it weren't so dangerous, I might even be turned on by this.

Scratch that. I'm definitely turned on by this.

"Stunning, really," I say and she chuckles again as she begins to descend the ladder superglued to the side of her house. When she hops down in front of me, her eyes shining and her mouth slightly agape, I just want to run away with her. Grab her hand and flee the country. Escape to America or something. I hear New York is a pretty cool place.

"Where are we going?" Her voice is quiet and her eyes have locked on mine. I stutter something unintelligible as I begin to lose myself in her gaze. "…call 911?"

"What? What about 911?" I whip my head around, searching frantically for danger. Fitz. Where is he? Where is Fitz? With my good arm, I reach for Clare, holding her close to me only to have her gently push me away.

"No, no. Gosh, that was an such ill-humoured joke. I'm so sorry, Eli. I just meant that you looked like you were spacing out and I was wondering if I needed to call 911. It was stupid. I didn't mean to frighten you." She looks down at her feet, all confidence seeping from her body. My heart speeds up even more when her shoulders sag down and I reach out to pull her into a nervous hug. She responds to the touch after a couple of seconds, gently wrapping her arms around my neck.

I breathe in the fruity scent of her hair deeply, not caring if it strikes her as incredibly creepy. She smells so nice and it fogs my brain to just the right level. Her hands stroke through my hair and I feel a blast of ecstasy rush through my veins.

Smiling doesn't hurt right now.

"I have a picnic," I say and she giggles animatedly into my ear. I tremble uncontrollably at the sound.

She disentangles our limbs carefully and again looks me in the eyes. "I like picnics."

"Well, good. Now," I pause knowing this is important. If she says yes to this question, I know she's here with me for the long haul. She'll support me and run with me through thick and thin. But if she says no, well, I don't know what'll happen, "are you sure you're willing to risk getting caught just to go on some sappy date with me?" My eyes must be dripping with hope because she leans in excruciatingly slow. We're almost the same height due to her boots and she simply has to lift her head a bit to reach my lips. Her breath ghosts over my mouth and I feel like my skin is about to peel off.

"Yes."

And she kisses me. She kisses like fire, attacking my lips with ferocity and heat, licking at my bottom lip like white hot flame.

I could die happily right now.

I could die happily without really knowing what happiness is.

I could die happily right now with a dead arm, a dead soul, and a dead ex-girlfriend.

In this moment, all is well in the world. I have someone relying on me to be good. To get better. And I think maybe if she holds my hand all the way there, I can reach some sort of clarity. Some form of happiness that lasts longer than the few moments when she kisses me.

All too soon, her lips leave mine and the world looses its bright light, the only source of dim gleam coming from Clare's eyes.

"Let's go." She breathes, her face extremely red. Her fingers lace with mine and she leans down to grab the basket.

I follow her lead as she guides me, knowing full well that we could get caught.

"Where are we going?" She calls as we reach a busy street with traffic flowing dangerously. Her hair whipping around her face, the wind from passing vehicles flurrying powerful gusts of air our way. Clare's smile is wide and genuine in the late afternoon sun. I reach out and stab the crosswalk button, thanking something somewhere when the sign changes to "Walk" after just a few seconds, giving Clare and I the opportunity to run across the street in safety.

I don't answer her question because I don't want to ruin this moment with talking. We talk too much as humans anyway. I want to live this moment in silence, connected to Clare by emotions and touch, not by voices. She agrees to my notion using no words, simply following where my hand guides.

**_We are going to Heaven on Earth, Clare Edwards._**

* * *

**A/N 2:** A few things that need to be cleared because they may be confusing:

1. Eli's thoughts are in bold italics. The "voice" in his head is just italicised.

2. I'm no detective, but I've done a bit of research on questioning minors and I believe if they don't request their parents presence, then the parents don't need to be there. I think. I could, and probably am, wrong.

3. Yes, there will be better Clare/Eli interaction in the chapters to come. Actually, starting with next chapter it get's a little hot and heavy. And Adam comes in to play next chapter as well.

Thanks for reading and if you want to talk to me, just PM me. Do what you will with what I've given you and I hope you come to read more on February 1st!

Sincerely yours,

(insert name here)


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **So It's February 1st, how exciting. This means my birthday is coming up soon and that there's a new chapter! Yay! Okay, a few things to cover before we start the chapter. I liked writing this chapter. I think we get a good view of where Eli is and what's going on inside his mind in regards to just about everything that's happened. Having a pretty bad anxiety problem myself, I tried to mirror some of my own past panic attack moments. It should feel genuine when you read it. I'm not too big on following the guidelines in the actual T.V. series. This is a somewhat AU story so things will be run differently. I don't like that they made Clare go "rebel" for a couple episodes, so she's just going to be a healthy teenage girl who goes out past curfew with her boyfriend. Like pretty much all teenage girls do when they've got a boyfriend at least once.

Please, please, please enjoy reading this. It was truly an experience to write.

Alright, ladies and gents, but probably ladies, on with the show!

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

_I remember when you lost your head  
Sometimes I wonder how you stay so sad  
When you're so beautiful  
So beautiful, so beautiful, so beautiful._

_So tell me why we're talking when we dance so good,  
Yeah, tell me why we're talking when we dance so good.  
And I know you can't stay, but I wish you would  
Yeah, I wish you would, yeah I wish you would._

"Dance So Good" by Wakey!Wakey!

_**Chapter 3**_

_"You're forgetting me, Eli."_

_ I'm on my knees in a puddle. It's dark here and she stands over me dressed in all black, her face a distorted bundle of colors. _

_"No, I swear, I'm not." _

_She laughs. I miss that laugh every day. She bends down over me and I feel her hand graze my cheek. It's desperately cold and damp. With my own hand, I keep her fingers locked on my face. _

_She pushes me down on the ground, her hands shoving my shoulders. I can feel a muted gnawing sensation irradiating from my shoulder, but Julia's body on top of mine feels so good that I ignore it. Her hands rough my skin, but her lips never meet mine. _

_Her hands remove my shirt. My skin, paler than most, is no match against her ghostly white pigment. Soon, no clothing separates us and everything but her face is in my view. It's all the same as I remember. Small and firm. _

_Fingernails scrape my sides and goosebumps rise up on my skin, her touch teasingly painful. When she reaches my shoulders, her face hovering over mine, a rye smile on her lips full of torture and lost love, I feel it. _

_It burns. _

_Not like Clare's kisses, but like my skin is being torn to shreds. I open my mouth to scream, but a hand clamps over my mouth, muffling any sound I hope to make. Something jabs into my right shoulder, peeling the flesh away. I move my head from its captive place and watch as blood pours away from me. _

_I look up and he's there. _

_She's gone and he's on top of me pressing a hand against my gaping wound. _

_It hurts so much._

_The look in his eyes is haunting, unreal almost. But I recognise it. _

_It's so real and I can't breathe. The excruciating pain is becoming too much. _

_A ringing begins in my ears, filling my head with its incessant noise. I jerk my body around in search for the wailing. It's hurting me. _

_This is how I die. _

_I close my eyes, willing for it all to stop. _

"Eli, shut that damn thing off!" I gasp, opening my eyes to the steady moonlit morning. Jumping up, I feel a pang of sickness course through me. I must have been lying on my bad arm while I was asleep. I know because it won't move and the slightest nudge I give it sends shivers of bile up my throat.

Opening my eyes more fully, I can see what caused my odd sleeping position. I had been looking for the tickets before I went to sleep and had to put a whole bunch of crap on the bed. Must've forgotten to take it all off.

"Eli, I said turn that off!" Bullfrog's grumbly voice echoes along to my alarm clock and I lean over to slam it off. "Thank you!" He calls.

I sit up fully and attempt to stretch out. My arm's healing process is decidedly moving quicker than the doctor originally thought, but lying on it last night probably set me back a couple days. I feel a drip of cold sweat rushing down my back and the nightmare comes flooding into my memory. I shiver, shaking my movable limbs out as if trying to release the sliver of evil.

**_Must. Get. Dressed._**

And I must. It's the first day back at school since the "incident" as everyone I've spoken to so lovingly is calling it. Reaching down carefully to avoid any further injury, I grab the package that arrived yesterday and walk to my bathroom.

As I move my muscles, I realise that everything aches. It's too early in the morning, the glory of restless sleep still wearing on me. I close the door to the bathroom and stare at my face in the mirror. It's pale and hollow. My nightmares have been a detriment to my nights and the urge to vomit at least three times a day has worn me thin. I can't keep food down anymore. And that's awful because I actually really like eating. The greenness of my eyes has wavered as well. I look like a walking corpse. Feel like one too.

I wonder if Clare will notice any of these changes.

The package in my hand begins to get heavy so I set it down and rip it open. I already know what's in here. Uniform clothes. Ugly polos and khaki pants just like the letter said. Red, purple, yellow, and blue. I pull out the letter:

_Dear _Degrassi Community School_ Student,_

_Due to horrific incidents during the Vegas Night dance, all students attending Degrassi this year must abide by our new uniform policy. Freedom of expression is still allowed, but it a lesser way. I.D. badges must be worn during school hours and you must always have on your uniform if you are walking the halls during a school day, but you may "accessorize" as long as the item of clothing or jewelry you are adding does not: _

_a. Contain any gang signs_

_b. Promote drug or alcohol use_

_c. Have any obscene images or foul language, or_

_d. Demote the school or another person._

_In regards to modesty, you must remember to keep shoulders, stomach, and thighs covered. School uniform skirts for girls must be worn with tights if they [the skirt] do not match these requirements. We thank you for your cooperation and hope you enjoy the _new_ school year at _Degrassi Community School_. _

**_Yellow=Freshman, __Purple=Sophomore, __Red=Junior, _**_**Blue=Senior**._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Mr. Simpson_

Red polo. And khakis.

No.

Just…no.

I crumple the paper and throw in the sink before I walk away to get some _real_ clothes on. Clare can probably pull this off. In fact, she'll probably look stunning in that purple shirt. She can't hide in long and flowing clothes anymore. **_Snap out of it, Eli._**

Right.

I grab black. Because black is good. Black is mine.

After changing, I carefully and painstakingly conduct the little bits of physical therapy my doctor assigned. Move arm up and then around and then down and then to the side. It hurts. A lot. I know I need to take a look at it. I stupidly haven't removed the bandage since the night of the "incident" and I don't want to without Clare there to hold my hand. And I understand how utterly pathetic that makes me, but being around her makes everything seem just a bit less hellish. I'll wait for her to be by my side when I look at the tragedy once again.

This will mark the first time I'm seeing her since our first date at the park. With the wind rushing every which way, our hearts beating erratically to the sound of the cars honking their horns, the sky bleak yet beautiful if only because Clare Diana Edwards was sitting beneath it.

Mm, happy memory. When we lay on a blanket underneath the darkening sky, giggling and holding on to each other. I felt so childish, but extremely peaceful. We danced to the sappy music on her iPod, not caring who watched. I can still remember the tune. I would never admit it to her, but I actually kind of liked it.

_And I bet you can't guess what I would do to kiss you in the middle of the room. 'Cause I don't blame you…anymore. No I don't blaa-ame you._

We took ridiculous pictures on my cell phone and her eyes lit up magnificently enough when she got ahold of my phone that I've decided to get her a real camera for her birthday. Or Christmas. I don't actually know which comes first.

I dropped her home and kissed her cheek longingly, watching as she climbed back up to her room safe and sound.

And then her parents whisked her off to some family counseling retreat for a week and further still to some stupid camp at her church for the other. Phones are apparently a no-no at church based events, which meant no communication except the flitter of Facerange IM when she got access to a computer.

Regardless of the heavy anxiety bearing on my already brittle bones, I am excited to see Clare. Hear her laugh again. Get lost in those impossibly blue eyes. Watch her face light up as I show her where we're going tonight on our "official" first date. It'll possibly make her want to jump me. In class. For the world to see.

"Eli, you're going to be late if you keep dilly dallying," Bullfrog's gruff voice pulls me from my fantasies of Clare and I shake my head. My hair falls in waves across my forehead and I realise I probably need a haircut. I kind of _want_ one. I'll ask Clare what she thinks later.

"Coming dad!" I call out. I really hope I get my driving privileges back soon. My doctor says I need to be able to move my arm a bit more before I can be "trusted" not to drive Morty off the road.

I grab ahold of my backpack, carefully sling it over my left shoulder, and grab the two tickets off my bed. They smell like freedom and intelligence. Like romance and potential. I shove them into my backpack and take one last look around the room. Swallowing the urge to be sick at the sight of it, I close the door behind me, lock it, and walk downstairs.

O-O-O

I'm gawking, I know. But I can't help it.

A metal detector. There is now a metal detector at our school.

I can't tell who anyone is anymore because they're all wearing the same goddamned thing.

People stare as they pass me, their eyes following every inch of black clothing covering my skin. I lift a side of my face in a smirk if they stare too long, admiring how they suddenly look away and wander off.

I hear the warning bell. Its annoying ring reminds me of waking up which in turn reminds me of my nightmare. I twist my head around frantically, searching for any figure or shadow out of place.

"Hey, kid," the sound startles me and I jump. A police officer walks towards me. "Bell's about to ring. Get in." I nod my head towards the man and he smiles, closing his eyes against the glaring sun of spring. When I enter the building it's flourishing with students hurrying to their classrooms. Bodies bump into one another and curses are thrown around. I go into zombie mode and find my locker without thinking.

But then I think. And with thinking comes realising.

My head automatically turns to the left and I see the spot where I stood with a knife sinking into my flesh. Memories flood my mind, overbearing me with their weight. My stomach clenches and I feel another panic attack creeping up my neck. I turn around, readying myself to run for the bathroom. Not truly caring who watches, I speed my way past the bustling students. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a tint of blue and rotate my head.

Clare Edwards is staring at me, a look of pure concern gracing her innocent features. She's holding out a hand almost absently. It's as if she's trying to reach me without moving, like she can move me with her sheer will power. What's funnier is I sort of feel myself being yanked back, but I need to throw up now so I continue rushing.

I slam into the bathroom. It's empty and I'm thankful as I snap open one of the stalls. Coiled tight, my stomach finally springs free and I release the contents. The acid bites at my throat and my eyes sting with tears. When it's all gone, I sit with my back to the side of the stall, waiting while my breathing steadily becomes irregular and stars shine in my vision. It's almost beautiful.

But then someone bursts through the door and the picture is ruined.

"Dude, Clare's freaking out. What the hell happened back there?" Adam's head is turned towards the door just waiting for someone else to crash through. At the sound of Clare's name, I somehow begin to calm down and through the haze of my minute panic attack, breathing gradually gets easier.

Adam comes to sit by my side, flushing the toilet and patting my back. I look at him with tears still pricking my eyes.

"Are you okay?" He asks calmly and I can sense the worry coursing through him. I lazily nod knowing he won't buy it, but he doesn't press the matter any more.

"What do I do, Adam? I can't even walk by my locker anymore," I sound scared and Adam's hand on my back ceases its comforting movements.

"Keep your head held high and pray that it'll get easier," Adam and I both laugh. "Okay, you get what I mean. You don't have to "pray" or whatever. Just, remember that Clare and I will be here to hold your hair back when you decide to vomit, okay? In fact, I'm fairly certain she's behind the bathroom door making sure no one else comes in. She'd come in if she weren't such a prude." Even though I don't feel all that much better, the sense of false security takes over and I smile.

"Got any gum?" I question, noting the acidic taste in my mouth. Not kissing material at all. There was something about PDA in the letter sent a couple weeks back, but right now I just want to taste Clare's lips.

"Uh, yeah. Minty spearmint. Might wanna gargle some water. I'll be outside waiting with Clare. The bell's gonna ring any second, so hurry up," Adam stands up and pulls me up along with him, pulling me in for a sudden hug. I shake the shock and swallow the pain radiating from my shoulder as he clutches on to me.

"Okay, okay. Are you sure you're into girls?" Adam smacks my good arm as he breaks away, but a grin finds its way to his face and he walks off. I catch a glimpse of Clare through the open door and my heart reacts violently. She's looking at Adam, though, and soon the door is closed and I'm left with my own sorrow.

This isn't healthy. Only feeling safe and happy when I'm around those two. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know that in order to get better I need happiness on my own. But I'm blinded by suffering and fear. Adam and Clare are my rocks. Or at least I hope they are.

I'm cleaned up soon enough. Adam had to talk to me with a spot of sick on the corner of my mouth. I'll have to apologise for that later. When I crack the door, it flies open with a force that would have knocked me down had Adam not been there to take my weight.

Clare's hand breaks from the door in a hurry and she cautiously steps toward me. It's torture how slow she's moving, but I understand. She sees I'm holding my arm and she must not want to aggravate the pain any more. But then she's in front of me and opening up her arms. I carefully let go of my aching limb and step into her embrace. I breathe in her scent, letting the crippling smell of mandarin orange assault my nostrils. It fuzzes my head even more than the lack of oxygen to my brain during my panic attacks.

In the distance, I hear a sharp bell tolling. I know school's starting now and that Clare, Adam and I will be late, but I just want to stay here.

"I'll see you in English," her voice sweetly whispers into my ear and I try thinking about ugly things to keep my excitement down.

"Looking forward to it," I reply huskily. When she releases me I notice a piercing blush stains her entire face and I want to lean in for a kiss, but Adam's grabbing me by my shirt collar, dragging me away from my beautiful temptress. I smirk at her and blow a kiss as I try desperately not to trip. She laughs and turns around, sauntering off towards her class.

I'm losing my goddamned mind.

The day is a blur. It moves like mist before my eyes and suddenly the bell is ringing and English is next.

I'm nervous. My hands are shaking and the dull aching in my arm is increasing as adrenaline begins to snake its way through my blood. I stand up lightheaded and fumble around in my backpack for the tickets. I can't feel them, though. My heart sinks and the pressure to be sick again rises, but my fingertips graze the large tickets and I sigh.

Students are buzzing around the halls, making it difficult to maneuver my way through the crowds. I'm suffocating here, a bleak cloud over me. Eventually I make it through unscathed, but my heavy breathing has worn me down a little.

I stand in the doorway to Ms. Dawes class and Clare is already sitting down in her usual spot on top of the desk. Dawes stands at the front of the class, body turned away from us as she scribbles something on the blackboard. When she faces us her eyes narrow towards me.

"Mr. Goldsworthy, the new dress code is _not_ mortician," Ms. Dawes points a finger at my attire and I smile broadly.

I move closer to her and hold my arms out. "Come on, Dawes. Give a guy a break. I recently suffered a traumatic 'incident' you know," the older woman sighs and shakes her head.

"Fine, you get off this time," she walks towards where I stand a few desks away from Clare. "But if this continues I'll have to put you in detention. No special treatment after today, young man." She pokes my good shoulder and smiles, walking out of the room.

Clare stares at me with wide eyes, her mouth slightly agape. God, I just want to grab her and kiss her. But I can't. I opt for impressing her instead.

I take a breath, bracing myself for the fire that is bound to start up in my arm, and swing my legs around two desks quite gracefully for someone with only one real working arm and land squarely on the desk next to Clare.

"Eli, you're going to tear that arm off if you're not careful."

I frown at her, but she's smiling and I feel a warm fuzz of something sink into my stomach at the sight of her. "Yeah, definitely dodged a bullet there," I smirk and widen my eyes as she shuffles closer to me.

In a low voice she whispers, "Right, it's knives you don't dodge well."

From anyone else, the statement would have been rude, uncalled for, and cruel. Clare, though, says it in such a husky and concerned voice that I almost forget everything and anything I've ever known except for her.

"Yeah, right," I laugh nervously and she places a hand on my face. I breathe in again the scent of her skin and then I remember why I wanted to show off. "Oh, check out what I have." I reach behind me as she pulls her hand away and grab the two tickets I'd been holding on to ever since Palahnuik announced he was coming to Toronto.

"What are these?" Her face scrunches in confusion and I smile wide in triumph.

"These, my dear Clara-Belle, are two tickets to see the world's greatest, most disturbing author speak tonight," I see the change in her face in slow motion. She gets it, she does. Her eyes light up and her mouth moves into a bright smile. And then it all goes away.

"I-I can't tonight. It's the Grundy Awards and I'm nominated. My mom wants to make it some big family thing, so we'll all be there together. As the nice, happy family we truly are," Clare's sardonic tone pulls my happy exterior down and allows my inner emotions a clear path to my outer mind.

"No, no, we can make it work. We have to. I've been holding on to these tickets for two weeks. We-we have to go. It's Chuck-Fucking-Palahnuik," Clare's lips purse as if she's tasted something sour and I realise my rambling has resulted in my foul mouth displaying itself to the innocent ears of Clare. "Sorry, sorry, sorry. That just kind of slipped out. He's just a great author and we talk about him all the time. He's like, the main dictator of our conversations. I'm sorry. You don't have to come. I'll go by myself or something."

I look down, suddenly ashamed of myself. An air of inexplicable grief blows over me and I suck in a deep breath. Clare's eyes are on me. They're watching me fall apart.

Clare grabs my chin in a shockingly bold move and turns my face up. "I was going to ask when it started," she's smiling and it warms me to my core, the sadness from just a second ago completely gone.

"Um, eight."

A thought buzzes in the back of my head that I shouldn't be this happy just because of Clare and that it shouldn't be so easy to get upset when she can't see me, but the way her blue eyes shine right in front of my face pushes those worries aside.

"Yoink," her free hand grabs one of the tickets. "I think I can be out by then," she lets go of my chin and the world seems a little bit colder.

"Your parents won't be mad?" I quirk an eyebrow and attempt to calm my heartbeat down to a regular BPM.

"Even if they are, I'm not a child anymore. They can't control me," a sly smile moves across her features. Ms. Dawes enters the room once more and claps her hands, signaling the start up of class. I give Clare one more smirk before sitting down next to her and bask in the hope I have stirring in my belly.

When the bell rings and the day finishes, I stand up and grab ahold of my backpack waiting for Clare. I'm blocking the little spaces between the desk and someone bangs straight into my right shoulder. My brain reacts quicker than my nerves and I let out a guttural growl from deep within my throat before I even feel any pain. But then I do feel the pain. White sparks course around my vision, the world fading from proper view. Someone places a hand on my arm and the slow-motion stops.

"Eli, it shouldn't hurt this much. It's been two weeks," Clare's small voice invades my senses and I shake my head with my shoulder still throbbing immensely.

"I-yeah-I haven't exactly checked on it since they released me from the hospital." I scrunch my face in preparation for the berating, but it never comes. Clare yanks on my good hand and leads me out of the classroom. She weaves her way in and out of the humongous mass created by other students and before I can revel in her touch, we're at the nurses office.

"No," I say in a pleading voice. "I can't go in there. She'll look at me funny and judge me or something. Please, can you just help me. Just you."

Clare doesn't seem too put off by the desperation sprouting in my tone and goes in the nurses office alone. She comes out a second later with some gauze, a bottle of isopropyl alcohol, and some anti-infection cream.

"Follow me," she orders, turning a corner and walking towards the woman's toilet.

"I don't think I'm allowed in there," I say, but she pushes my back and I have no choice but to enter. It's different in here than the men's room. The walls are a sickly purple and it smells strongly of perfume. It's clean, though, which is good.

"Shirt off."

Her eyes are challenging mine, but I definitely catch a faint rose tint to her cheeks and find myself smirking. She motions towards the hem of my shirt.

"You wanna help?" I ask, my smirk in full swing. She shakes her head and groans, turning around to face the mirror. I watch her bow her head and bang it into the reflective glass. "Careful, Edwards. Don't wanna break that glass or else I'll be having to clean up your wound." She pulls her head away but still won't look at me.

I ready myself for the imminent pain and quickly pull my shirt over my head. I throw it to the floor and see Clare's eyes on my body through the mirror. She looks away fast, but that trademark blush runs along her neck and up to her cheeks.

"Ha!" I exclaim, my feet lifting off the ground in gloating. "I was right!"

Clare jumps at the interruption my voice makes. "What?" She moans and I'm glad I don't have to take off my trousers because she is turning me on with those noises more than I'd like to admit.

"Nothing. Just, you know, you _are_ staring at my naked body."

She smirks mockingly. "Half naked body," she's still staring at the mirror and I see the blush has spread to her neck. We're watching each other's reflection and I see her eyes waver every now and again.

"Are you gonna help me or just stare at my magnificent muscles, Edwards?" I say finally. Clare laughs nervously at my comment. I like that I can make her nervous. It means that I have a slight power over her.

"Right, right. Let me have a look."

She turns around, her face still flaming, and stares at my chest. She swivels her eyes around and I watch as she almost forces them to land on my wound. The plaster already in place is frayed at the edges and it has been chafing at my skin lately. The skin around it is rubbed raw. Carefully, ever so carefully, Clare lifts her dainty hands and begins the extraction process. It's painfully slow and I kind of want her to just rip it off, but I know she wouldn't. It peels away some of my skin and I bite my tongue to keep from screaming out.

She's mumbling apologies and I'm tasting blood, but eventually the entire thing is removed.

"Oh my goodness," she breathes out and I look down at the wound. Gore is my speciality, but at the sight of my own torn flesh I want to be sick again. I swallow down the acidic bile. Underneath the bandage is a light pink tinge spreading from where Fitz put the knife to where the lining of the gauze stopped. The wound itself is puffed out and lined in white.

"I think it's a little bit infected," I say, trying to ease the shock and the tension. I feel utterly stupid for waiting this long to get a look at it. Although it does feel a little less idiotic with Clare here. Even if she is staring daggers.

"Yeah, yeah. Let me just dab at it with some soap and water first."

"Is that a good idea?" I ask while she prepares a bit of toilet paper with a dip of water and liquid soap. She rubs it together into a lather, a look of worry on her face.

"Mhm. I've done this before, Elijah. I won't hurt you."

Which was a lie because the minute she presses the cloth to my open wound a sickening pain whizzes through me and I clench my jaw and eyes shut. I groan in frustration when she moves the soapy paper around the entire gash and open my eyes to see her face contorted in concentration. Her eyes meet mine and say a thousand apologies.

"It's-" I break, holding my breath when the cloth pushes against the entrance mark. I shake my head and smile tightly. "Woo-it's okay, Clare. Don't look so remorseful." She frowns at me, sticking her bottom lip out. I want to move down and kiss her but the minute I get the courage up to do it, she's removed the paper from my shoulder and has moved back to the sink.

"You can come over here, Eli," says Clare, looking over her shoulder. I scan her body up and down. Purple polo shirt tucked into to neat and crinkle-free khaki trousers.

As I walk over to her, I casually think aloud, "You know, you look kind of like a sexy version of Barney the Dinosaur."

Clare hiccups and coughs loudly into her elbow, but that lovely heat of blood has now spread all along her skin. I see it marking her hands and running up her arms. She's stopped the preparation of the alcohol and for a moment I'm relieved.

"I am going to turn around now." Ah, she speaks. "And when I do, you will wipe that smug smile off of your face and be a good little patient for me. Okay?" She stands still. I realise she's waiting for my response.

"Right, okay. Sir, yes, sir," I salute her with my left hand while she turns around and she immediately smacks it down. "Gosh, Clare, always ruining my fun."

A twinkle in her eyes stops all of my thoughts and I mindlessly stare into them while she works on my damaged soul. She rubs the alcohol but I don't feel it. Soon, she's clearing away the remnants of the gauze and telling me to put my shirt back on. I think of a million innuendos to say, but hold my tongue.

"My mom's phoning. I'll see you tonight, casanova," Clare leans forward and presses her lips to my cheek. My eyes flutter close as the sticky residue of her lipgloss smacks against my skin. When she releases me from her hold, readying herself to turn around and leave, I grab her hand.

"Thank you, Clare," I say breathlessly. Now would be the perfect opportunity to kiss her, right?

I move my hand all the way up her arm, feeling the goosebumps tickle her flesh, the hairs running up and down her arm meeting the sensitive tips of my fingers. Grasping her cheek, I move in to attach our lips.

She responds quicker than I had anticipated, wrapping her hands around my neck, pulling my body closer to her own. She's raking her fingers through my hair, licking my lips with a tongue of fire.

I open my mouth slightly and feel her flames pour in through my parted jaw. They twirl around, touching the insides of my cheeks lightly, the white hot tips reaching the roof of my mouth. She's found my weak spot and she must notice the way my knees buckle because she scrapes her tongue once more along my hard palate.

I brush my tongue against her own and I swear somewhere there is an explosion. Her moan dies in my mouth and the world seems a little less clear. My brain is full of Clare and only Clare.

In the haze, I remove my hand from Clare's face and slide it onto her collarbone. She trembles at the touch and I melt into her once again.

"And then I was like…Oh my God! Eww!"

I break away from Clare briskly, haphazardly watching two yellow-shirts running away from the girls toilet.

Blood. There is not enough of it going to my brain.

I'm glad now that I did not pick out super skinny jeans. The constriction in these suckers is already bad enough without the extra squeeze.

"That was heated. Wow," Clare's mouth is swollen and shining red. I smile because I made that happen. Now she has to walk out of here disheveled.

"Sorry," I murmur, not in the least bit sorry.

Clare reaches out and touches my arm. "Maybe we can do it again tonight. I do have to go, though. And we definitely scarred those girls for life," her voice is light and extremely winded, but she makes the situation sound fun and she said "tonight" and "again" in the same sentence.

"Definitely worth it," I say, my smile smug and merry and very real. Clare makes it all better.

She picks her forgotten backpack up and looks at me one more time. "Be at the theatre by 7:20, Elijah."

And she's gone, a white flame burning down to orange embers.

_Eli…_

_**Go away!**_

_Oh, Eli._

_**Shut up!**_

_You're forgetting me._

"Leave me the fuck alone!" My voice echoes in the empty bathroom. I'm sick of that stupid whisper haunting me. Taunting me.

I yank my backpack up and walk out of the bathroom, not seeing the numerous amounts of girls staring after me. Bullfrog is waiting outside the front doors in his car.

"Ready to head home, son?" He pats my back, but I frown and he hastily removes his hand.

"Yeah. Let's get out of here." I glance once more at the building where it all fell apart for me and try remembering with all my might that Clare and Adam will help mend it.

Adam with his words of wisdom.

Clare and her kisses of fire.

Me and my broken everything.

What a team.

O-O-O

"Eli, you're going to be late!" Mom calls up. I stand in front of the mirror in my bathroom, dressed in the same clothes I wore to school. Only now a nervous energy thrums through me. Every now and again a stinging discharges from my cut, but it doesn't bother me so much. In a few minutes, I'll be in the school watching Clare accept her award. She will win the award, there's no doubt about it.

Whatever she was nominated for, she'll get it…

"Elijah Goldsworthy get your ass downstairs now!"

"Coming, mom," I mumble quietly. I fluff my hair out and move my right arm a bit to ease some of the pressure that has been building up ever since I returned home from school.

I blew into my room in a sudden onset of rage. Searching for the picture frame was difficult. I had to move everything, but I found it buried underneath a pile of stuffed animals. And then I spent the rest of the afternoon staring at it until the image became blurred and my heart became heavy with poisonous love.

It's time to leave for the Grundy's now, though, so I place the frame gently on my bed. It's getting worse in here. Every night I suffocate myself. It's doing wonders for my health. Mental and physical.

"Eli. Move. Now," mom's angry tone wafts through the floorboards and I know I need to let go and move on. But it's difficult when you've been holding on for so many nights.

"Yep, mom, I'm moving now."

Light off, door locked, wallet in pocket, smile in place.

The drive is slow and CeCe won't stop touching me. If she isn't thumbing over my rowdy hair, she's wiping "smudges" off of my mouth.

"I'm proud of you, Eli," she whispers as we pull up to the front of the building and my heart seizes; stopping then jumping in time to imaginary fast paced techno music I loathe. I watch my mother's face twist in emotions, displaying sadness, joy, and excitement. Tears are beginning to well up. That's my cue to leave.

"Thanks, mom," by the look in her eye, she knows I'm not only appreciating her driving skills but also her declaration of proudness. I've never been good with sappiness.

"Have fun and don't be home too late," I know she doesn't care when I get home just as long as it's before sunrise, but she must sense that Clare's parents are hard asses because she winks.

I step outside of the vehicle to once again face my demons. "I'll see you later, ma," I call out as she drives off. Her hand dangles out of the window and she waves lethargically in my direction.

When I enter the building, it's quiet and deserted. It reminds me too much of Vegas Night and I swiftly run through the halls in search of the auditorium.

The voice follows me like a spectre, hauntingly calling my name.

_Eli!_ It shrieks, clamping its misery around my tightening throat.

_Don't you dare forget me, Eli!_

I turn once last corner and find the door to backstage. I notice the change instantly. The spiritual cull vanishes from my head.

A new emotion, anxiety about seeing Clare mixed with a sickening excitement, stirs in my belly, propelling thoughts of lust and adoration through me. My arm hurts.

"Mr. Goldsworthy, what are you doing back here?"

I turn my head to the quiet noise. Miss Dawes stares at me, standing only a short distance away. She's dressed in a floral gown, a long scarf cascading over her shoulders, the tousles reaching the floor.

"You look ravishing, Miss Dawes. Truly delightful," she scowls but I see that Dawes' smile threatening to break free.

"Mmm, Eli. Ever the master of changing ones direction of thought. You didn't answer my question and while I do adore you as a student during class, you are not allowed back here."

Oh. Definitely didn't know that. I smile nervously at Miss Dawes, hoping to feign either stupidity or confusion.

"Clare," is all I can choke out under the pressure of Dawes' stare.

"Ah, the young Clare Edwards. I see my pairing skills still are amazing. Is it a surprise? Will you jump on stage if they call her name and perform a dance or a song? And if they don't, grab the microphone from whomever beat her Kanye style and declare that Clare Edwards deserved the award for best props person?" **_Props and set. Aha!_** That's what she's been nominated for.

I shake my head at Miss Dawes' humourful statement and laugh lightly. "Yes, Dawes, I will be eternally grateful for your insightful pairing of Clare and I," Dawes looks at me expectantly. "And yes, this is a surprise."

The elder woman spreads her lips into a wide grin. "You can stay, then. But no noise or else I _will_ throw you out." She pats me on the back before wandering off down a secret hallway.

The presenter yawns on and on about the magnificence of show business and the wonders of working behind the set and on it. I peek my head round the curtain. I can see all of them, but none of them can see me. I am invincible back here, hidden by the red velvet.

My eyes scan the audience, looking for that one face in which I find my refuge. Dressed in blue, she sits between her parents. They lean over her, their faces scrunching in anger. Mrs. Edwards' forehead pulses with rage and Clare's mouth opens tightly, her arms crossed over her red chest. I watch her parents' lips and try to understand what their saying. I hear their whispered yells, but they're speaking too fast.

"Clare Edwards, come on down."

Clare…Clare…Clare.

She won! Clare won the award!

Should I go out and do a dance or something? I can't sing, but I sure as hell would try for her. I dizzily look for her and watch as she huffs. Her parents are still bickering. **_God, shut up would you? Your daughter won a fucking award!_**

Clare hops down from her seat, throwing flowers at her father. Her parents begin enthusiastically clapping when she takes the stage.

"Wow, so many people to thank and so little time," she looks at the cards in her hands and frowns. "I'd like to thank my parents for instilling in me a love for theatre at an early age. Yeah, thanks. I'd also like to thank our wonderful director, Declan Coyne. And thank you to all who came and saw it. Thanks…" Her voice trails off from its monotone form and she turns to walk off stage.

I'm standing there gawking once more. **_Compose yourself, Eli_.**

When she walks towards me, I don't move. My feet are nailed are the floor.

"You came." She examines me silently. It's making my heart swell.

"Um, congratulations," I say nervously, noticing the wetness of her eyes. I want to move up and hug her but neither of us seem capable of motion at the present time. We just stare at each other like weirdos. Nice weirdos, though. There's an unbreakable connection between us when we lose ourselves like this.

"Clare, you won! How wonderful."

The unbreakable link is broken by Miss Dawes approaching Clare and I. Clare nods her head and barely flits her eyes towards the teacher who brought us together before taking those last steps to reach me.

"Okay, well, I'll see you both in a couple of days," Miss Dawes is smiling when she shakes her head and walks off but I don't really pay attention because Clare has laced her fingers with mine.

"Are you ready to go see Chuck?" She cocks her head to one side, takes in a shaky breath, and smiles. I'm lost for words.

"Um, parents."

Her hand slackens.

"They're too busy fighting to notice I won. They won't care if I leave. Let's go, Eli," she moves foreword and I only stay planted for just a second more before giving into her desperate tone.

We flee the scene, running across the stage to the emergency exit. I watch as parents faces round in shock, shooting Mr. and Mrs. Edwards a mocking smile. As the door flies open, a buzzing sounds and Clare looks back at me. I want to take a picture of her face right now. She looks mischievous, like she's about to commit some terrible crime. Which I suppose in her book she is about to.

The wind blows over us in warm gusts and I squeeze her hand as we make our way to Queen's Street. She periodically turns to face me while we walk.

It's as if she's questioning me without using words. Like she's inaudibly asking if this is how you defy your parents. If this is how you create memories and longstanding passion.

An intersection blocks our way from the last turn we need to make. I stroll over to the traffic signal and press the button three times, waiting a second in between each poke. I can almost hear the music. The stuff Clare showed me last time we escaped like this.

Taking her hand again I notice how she watches me. She studies me, my every movement. Her eyes jerk when my body does like they always do when she's inspecting me.

I am falling critically for this girl and it is scaring me.

I will away the voice. _**Please, don't torture me tonight. I need freedom tonight**._

I need freedom from all of these things. The worries I have about Fitz, about Clare abandoning me, of my fear taking over, of Julia returning to take my soul once and for all.

And that is why whenever I look at Clare, I just want to get lost in her gaze.

"Elijah," Clare's melodic hush rustles through me and I blink rapidly, attempting to weaken my drowsy thoughts. Something's tugging my body and I notice that Clare has extended her arm entirely. She's clutching me with two hands, begging with her body language for me to follow her.

"What?" I question slyly, lifting an eyebrow.

She jerks her head to the other side of the road. Cars zoom past us, her dress is lifting chaotically and my eyes land on her exposed legs.

"Come on. Let's live dangerously."

I move my eyebrow down and frown. "Live dangerously? By dying? Because running across a busy street is a one way ticket to death, Edwards."

"Scared, Goldsworthy?" She giggles and I'm lost now. I let go of my thoughts and step towards her.

"Whenever you're ready, Clara-Belle."

Our eyes meet and I shiver, that unfamiliar feeling overwhelming all my senses simultaneously. Because it is a different feeling. One I've never felt before. It's new and scary and exciting and nerve-wracking.

She jerks forward and I follow. We leap into the street. Horns go off, lights flash, voices yell.

But I don't perceive any of it. All I see is Clare. All I feel is our hearts mingling in the palms of our hands. All I hear is that song prattling on and on, droning through the streets of Toronto.

O-O-O

"Oh my gosh! That was the most amazing thing I've ever heard in my entire life. I mean, the way he spoke. The eeriness he was able to infuse in his voice and still make it sound brilliant! I'm in love, Elijah Goldsworthy. Chuck Palahnuik, marry me."

Clare dances ahead of me, twirling in place to face me as she speaks. Her body glows with ecstasy and adrenaline.

I agree with her. Minus the whole marrying him thing. But I don't vocalise my thoughts. I just watch her sway and smile to myself.

We head for nowhere. Clare just wants to move. A romantic at heart, that girl. The wind will take her where she desires to go.

The ice cream in her hand is melting and whenever it falls on her hand, she brings the cone up and licks up the spill in an extremely alluring way. It's agonising to watch.

"Do you want to sit?" She asks, motioning to a metal bench. The same metal bench we sat at when we cut class all those weeks ago. Good ol' bench.

I sit down first and Clare plumps down extremely close; her leg is brushing against mine experimentally. She sighs and continues lapping at her dissolving ice cream.

She's to my left so I can wrap my arm around her. She snuggles into my hold, finishing her ice cream quickly before resting her head on my shoulder.

"We fit together, you and me," Clare whispers and I huff out a laugh.

"I like to think so."

We sit like this for a moment longer before a noise, originating from Clare's purse, starts up. It's the same one I heard this morning in the bathroom. Clare's mom.

"Aren't you going to pick up?" I ask, but she's already moved and clicked it off.

"I'm an hour late. It's not important."

"Clare Edwards, you little minx," she gasps up at me.

"I am being healthily rebellious. I'm hardly being overly flirtatious."

I smirk and reply sardonically. "I think you'll find the definition implies _bold _flirtation. Not too much of it."

"Oh," she says, moving her head to rest at my neck again. Her nose skims my flesh every now and again and whenever she breathes, her humid breath sticks to my nervous sweat. "Well, am I being boldly flirtatious?"

Her question catches me off guard.

She has been very touchy. And eyelash-batty. And whispery. But does she really know what she's doing to me? Is it intentional?

"Hey," I feel her head lift off of my shoulder and blink in surprise when her eyes meet mine. "You know how I said that tonight we could do that thing again?"

My smirk transforms into an unattractive smile too big for my face. "What thing would this be?"

"Oh I think you know," she moves her head closer. "I mean, we did technically break school law by doing that thing."

"Yeah, I don't really want to break into the girls bathroom again. I'd rather just kiss you."

She laughs and her vanilla-scented breath hits my olfactory nerves and everything begins to get hazy.

"I've been calling it contraband kissing."

Oh, God, she's done it. She's lost me.

"Contraband kissing. I like it," are the last words out my mouth before its on hers.

She tastes like sweet, sweet vanilla ice cream and sugary caramel. My tongue swipes at the rich treat still coating her lips. It mingles with my taste buds and propels wanton passion to my core.

For the first time in weeks my arm's pain throws itself away and I find myself encasing Clare in a loose grasp. Her hands snake their way to my hair and she gently scrapes at my scalp.

All of my senses have been heightened. Everything is raw and real and charged. Our bodies are connected like live wires, touching and sparking flame. We crackle with want and lust.

Every time her tongue swoops up to meet the roof of my mouth I feel a bit of my soul being poured into her blazing abyss. Her mouth is warm like summer and her hands are rough against the skin of my head.

I don't want it to stop. I want to stay like this, connected to Clare's soft lips. She shouldn't be affecting me like this. I'm physically and emotionally lost and she's torn, threatening to break any day. But I don't give a damn right now because she's kissing me, sucking on my lips, like she's trying to gather the air from my lungs.

"Oi, you two! This is a public place."

I pull away from Clare hurriedly. An old man is shaking his hand at us, frowning. I look at Clare's red face and we both burst into a fit of content laughter.

"Fuck, Clare, it's late and you're beautiful," for the first time since we've met, her eyes don't change when I swear. "Do you want to go home now?"

"I'm not so sure I have a home, Elijah, but yes. Take me away." She stands up first and pulls me up, stretching my injured shoulder. I wince but cover it up quickly enough that she doesn't see.

I'm sad for her, for the fact that her home is broken, but I'm also super high on her kisses right now to the point of not being capable of caring.

She runs her hand through my hair again. "I messed it up," she says apologetically, pulling her hand away to press some saliva on her fingers before returning to the strands.

"It's fine, Clare," I say warmly.

"But you love your hair," she mocks, sticking her tongue out momentarily before catching sight of the old man again.

"Hey, Clare?" I ask. She stops moving and looks hopefully up at me. "Do I need a haircut?"

She laughs and cups my cheek. "Do you want one?"

I think for a moment, contemplating the dark symbolism hidden within my hair. I started growing out when Julia died. I dyed it black after her funeral. I've been straightening it since the last time I visited her grave before heading to Degrassi.

It's the hair that encapsulates my sorrow.

"Yeah." I reply cautiously. Clare squeezes my waist and I jerk, a ticklish sensation running through me.

"I'll keep that in mind," she says, playfully motioning to my sensitive side. "But if you want to get one, then we can go out some time maybe tomorrow and get it done. Sound good?"

She needs to stop ending her sentences with that. It always sounds good coming from Clare. If she ever does decide to break up with me (_**please, Clare, don't ever**_), all she'd need to do is finish with 'sound good?' and I'd agree.

"Yes, Clare. Sounds wonderful."

I take her hand in mine and I walk her home. We talk the entire time about her future husband, Chuck Palahnuik. When we reach her house, she shakily removes her hand from mine and takes out a set of keys.

"You should go," she whispers, pressing her head to my chest. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and hold her close for a second.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Clare Soon-To-Be-Palahnuik."

She giggles and extracts herself from me. She blows a kiss and turns away. I know it doesn't actually happen, but I swear I can feel that kiss land on my lips. I move my hand up to touch them when I hear the click of her door being unlocked.

By the time I hear the yelling, it's too late for me to turn back.

"What on earth are you doing to me," I mumble to the air.

I strongly dislike the response.

_You're forgetting me, Eli._

* * *

**A/N 2: **What did you think about that? Was it okay? I know the characters might seem OOC, but eh. I write em like I feel em.

Alright, there were two music references I have a feeling went over every single persons head. One was a homage to one of my all-time favourite songs "Lady Eleanor" by Lindisfarne ("Licking my lips with a tongue of fire" is what I wrote, the song goes "Then creeping on towards me licking lips with tongues of fire") and the other was a bit of a play on one of Bo Burnham's bits from his stand-up routine Words Words Words. The song's called "Rant" and it's basically a hit against Catholicism (_"_It's too early in the morning, the glory of..." but his version is different: "It's too early in the morning glory to read another allegory story"). Just in case anyone wanted to know. I don't know about checking out Burnham, but Lindisfarne is this amazing 70's band with loads of great music.

I used the song "Dance So Good" for this chapter because I think it's a great song to mirror what's going on within Eli's brain. He's hearing Julia, she's talking to him, and he can't get it to stop. And a part of him doesn't want her to stop. He misses her horribly and she's doing a stellar job of reminding him. No matter how hard he tries to let go of her, she keeps on coming back. If you want to listen to that song, go for the "full band version" other than the album version. I think it builds better and makes you feel a bit more things.

So I saw Panic! at the Disco a few days ago and it was amazing! I also fell in love with The Vampire Diaries coupling of Klaus and Caroline. I had heard that people shipped them, but had no clue that their first real kiss was in the episode a couple weeks ago. Not that any of that has anything to do with Degrassi...

Anyway, hope you enjoyed and I'll be seeing you all in a couple weeks. If you feel so inclined, review, favourite, and follow. If you don't, then don't worry. I won't be offended.

Until next time,

(insert name here)


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Well, here I am, another year older. I was contemplating getting this out yesterday, but I was too busy being single on Valentine's day to really do much. I actually was busy, though. Didn't even eat any food until four in the afternoon because there was too much to get done. Who else doesn't really care about Valentine's day? Because I refuse to be the only one who just couldn't care less about February 14th. Anyways, this chapter is meh in my opinion. I had fun writing it because you get to see a little bit more of Eli's friendship with Adam and his confusing and conflicting feelings toward his mental health, but I had to cut it off because I didn't like how it was flowing.

If you liked it, let me know. Please. It'd mean so much to just get a glimmer of praise. Yes, I am completely vain. I think it has something to do with my lack of social life. You just spend all your time by yourself and then slowly start to realise that you talk more to yourself than anyone else. It gets scary when you notice that you'd much rather be talking to yourself than other people. I think I'm slowly going insane here.

I think that maybe the Eclare stuff might seem a bit forced in here, but I hope not. Ah well, please enjoy! Drop me a line if you're up for it.

* * *

_She said love was just like youth_

_yeah it was time worth wasting._

_I said young love felt like a holiday,_

_It felt like fresh bread baking downstairs._

_I hope you will get home soon._

"LGA" by Wakey!Wakey!

* * *

**_Chapter 4_**

_"Well, well, well, Elijah. We meet again," Fitz says, holding the knife in his hands. We're in the hallway again. It's dark and he's scary and I'm afraid. My heart is thumping too fast for me to count the beats and I close my eyes to push the image of that stupid shiny knife away. _

_"What do you want?" I question fearfully. _

_"To show you what life would be like if this happened."_

_I open my eyes and see Clare, dressed in all white, standing next to Fitz. She clutches him, frightened lines of terror shadowing her features. _

_"Get away from her!" I shout, but he stands there defiantly, holding her in front of him as if using her to shield himself. Anger bubbles in me, rising slowly to the surface. He's smiling. He's actually got a grin on his face. His lips are being pulled wider and wider, spreading out to reveal bloody teeth and an ego that his body can't contain. _

_He pulls Clare closer and I try to move. My feet, though, God, they won't move. I'm plastered in place, forced to watch as Fitz presses his lips to Clare's throat. My eyes are incapable of shutting out the images. _

_"Oh, my Clara-Belle, how far we've come," Fitz starts to speak, his voice echoing in the darkness. "How far we've travelled. How close we are. How desperate we are," he turns her around. She's not facing me anymore and I try once again to move, but I'm frozen in place, just a statue with a heart that's threatening to burst. _

_He opens his mouth again, his cracked lips so close to Clare's ear he's practically spilling his words straight into her head, "How far we've come to die." _

_His eyes go black as coal and he brings up the switchblade to Clare's back. She screams, a horrible noise mirroring the one I heard all those weeks ago when she slid down next to me to hold me as I bled. _

_"Clare! No!" I wail, my voice harsh and broken. I'm forced to see this, to watch as Fitz, the bastard, plunges the blade deep into Clare's back. Red spills like a waterfall across her gentle figure, soaking her white clothing in its stain. _

_Magically, my limbs once more to my brain and I run to her. Fitz vanishes as I grab her body. We collapse to the floor and I hold her head, watching as her pale face grows to a ghostly sheen. My hands are wet with blood and she's no longer groaning in agony, she's limp and cold. _

_"God, no! Please!" I touch her face gently, tracing my fingers across her face. Her lips are lifeless. "I love you," I cry, tears simmering down my face. They land on her cheeks, disappearing into her dead skin. _

_Everything shuts down. I'm dead, I'm gone, I'm alone._

Sweat is running down my back. It pools where I lie naked and surrounded by shit I don't need but can't bear to part ways with. Will it be like this forever? Will I constantly have these nightmares I can't control waking me up and refusing to allow me the pleasure of sleep?

I don't want to get up. My muscles groan and whinge when I stretch in place, the damaged shoulder I grace protesting entirely.

I'm going to be sick again, I know it, and I don't really want to throw up in bed, so I stand up. I'm stiff everywhere, agonizingly making my way towards the toilet.

The dream is still in my head as I finish ridding my body of its nutrients. When I look at myself in the mirror, I almost don't recognize myself.

I'm a creature caught between happiness and the fear of happiness. Death and life. Light and darkness. All the clichés.

CeCe and Bullfrog are both at work. It's late into the day and I try desperately to remember my night out with Clare. Her resistance of parental figures, her smile, her laugh, her lips. Oh, those lips. My brain is confused between which lips I want to picture. The dead and cold lips from my nightmare, or the fiery lips from my must-be-dream.

I decide I'm not hungry and go upstairs to get in the shower. The house is eerily silent. My breath gets thick with worry if I listen to the stillness, so I try drowning out the noisy quiet by getting music started up.

When I got home last night, I immediately wanted to live in those few hours I spent with Clare for eternity. In order to trick my troubled mind, I searched for the band Clare had shown me before Spring break.

It wasn't difficult to find them. They go by the name Wakey!Wakey! and consider themselves an Adult Alternative band. With money I'd saved, I bought all of their stuff. Which wasn't much, but it was something.

So now, as I stand beneath the scalding hot water, letting it burn my skin and hoping it washes away the shame and guilt, I drown in the music and claim it as my own.

The odd voice of their lead singer rings in my ears and I find myself thinking.

I think about the anxiety that rattles my bones. That makes me afraid to step outside. That forces me to throw up and lose sleep.

I think about my fear concerning Julia. She's refusing to let me go the same way I cling to her. Every second I think I'm finally getting clarity away from Julia, her voice bombards my thoughts. Clare's image in my head gets whacked away by this figment of my imagination that calls to me whenever I'm at my most vulnerable. I need her to leave me alone. To set me loose. I've been tied too long to her memory. She's gone, I understand that.

But a part of me, the dark side affected by loss and death, loves her voice. It yearns for her in my darkness.

The better side of myself, the one that has Clare to hold and kiss, wants that part gone. It needs that part dead.

When the playlist dies out and my skin is wrinkled and red, I turn the water off and step out. It's Saturday, which means I don't have to worry about school. The thought of that instantly calms some of the stress.

I dress myself in dark jeans and a black button-down. The sleeves reach the tips of my hands and I mentally scold my mother for buying me clothes. I think she always wanted a taller son. I roll the sleeves to meet just below my elbows.

In the distance, I hear a ringing. With the way my head has been playing tricks on me, I'm not sure if it's real. As I step closer to my bed, though, it gets louder. I push away all the junk spread across my duvet and search desperately for my cell phone.

I find it and, without caring to look at the caller-ID, pick up.

"Hello?" I ask, noting how horrible my voice sounds.

"Elijah?" Clare drawls sweetly.

My heart pounds and my palms sweat.

"Yeah?" One word, good job, Eli.

"How are you this morning?" She questions lazily and I imagine her lying on her bed, twirling her hair.

"Good," I lie, hoping she doesn't catch it.

"You're lying."

**_Well shit._**

"No, I'm not," I cover quickly, touching the back of my hand to my sweaty forehead. My hair drips down into my eyes and I push it back.

"Okay then," she says slowly. Lying to her won't help me with anything, I know. But I'm torn between wanting to tell her everything and keeping my secrets locked away behind my bedroom door. "Well, remember last night?" She asks.

"No, Clare, I've completely forgotten. Tell me what occurred in the dark hours of the previous night," I reply sardonically.

"Hmm," she muses. "Well, we saw Chuck Palahnuik. I claimed him as my future husband. And we kissed. A lot."

I'm momentarily shocked by the confidence in her voice, but I do hear the shakiness and smile brightly. "Oh, well, I'm sorry I don't remember. Maybe you'll have to come 'round today and remind me in person."

"I was actually thinking that would be a wonderful idea. Mom thinks I'm going to Ali's and I promised you a haircut," her voice goes deeper and quieter. "Sound good?" She asks but she should already know the answer.

"Mhm," is all I can say in response. She laughs on the other line and I melt in place.

"I'll be there soon then. I'm going to walk."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Clare, that's dangerous. You shouldn't be walking on your own," I rush out and I can almost hear her smile falling.

"It's fine, Eli. I know how to take care of myself."

Ugh, she doesn't understand! "No, come on. Let me pick you up,"

"Eli," she sighs. "My mom thinks I'm going to Ali's. She'd be a bit skeptical if a hearse showed up outside the house."

"I can't drive, remember? I'll walk to pick you up," I plead, desperation and horror lacing themselves in my tone.

"I'm going to walk. That's final." She doesn't sound angry or tired. I don't know how. I don't know why she hangs around with the likes of me. Maybe it's just a phase and once she gets over her parents she'll decide I'm not right for her.

_She's not right for you, Eli._

I shake my head. She's going to stay, she will stay, she has to stay.

"Okay," I give in, rubbing my eyes. "See you soon."

"See you then, Casanova." I'd never tell her, but I like that nickname. It convinces my pathetic self that Clare likes me.

I hear the click of her hanging up and find myself alone once more.

"Say goodbye, old me," I say to nothing.

But really, I'm saying it to everything. To my room, to the objects in it, to Julia. To myself. Not in the normal way meaning that I'm just talking to myself, but I say it _to_ myself. To me. It's a warning. This me, the one standing in this room surrounded by my devastating history, is dying. Slowly but surely, it's dying. Disappearing like smoke.

I'm outside, waiting. Clare got off the phone twenty-two minutes ago and she's still not here. I've calculated the walk and it should have only taken her 19 minutes to get here. And that includes crossing the busy street.

She's late and now I'm worried. I keep on roughing my hands through my way, forcing it to stick out in odd places, the sweat coating my hands acting as a sort of hold.

I start to pace after twenty-four minutes and sense a panic attack at minute twenty-seven.

"Elijah Goldsworthy!" I hear the angelic voice and twist around. Suddenly, everything's okay. My terror level begins to go down and I breathe a sigh of relief. Clare walks towards me with a smile decorating her lips. Her hair is curled perfectly and she's dressed in purple. She must've liked my comment regarding her uniform top.

"You look nice," I say when she reaches me. Her arms open up and I tentatively step into her warm, sweet-smelling embrace. Hugs were never comfortable for me, but in Clare's hold I feel free.

"Thank you, as do you. Kind of," she looks me up and down and I frown. "Well," she continues, "you look kind of like you just ran a marathon or something. You're incredibly sweaty."

To prove how sweaty I am, she swipes her hands on my arm and I watch as a glow of sparkling water spreads across the hairs. I need to change.

"That's what I was going for," I retort dryly.

She shakes her head, "You're wearing black, Goldsworthy. The sun is having fun killing you slowly. Come, come, we'll get you cleaned up." Before I can protest, she's grabbed my left hand and pulls me towards my house. I had yet to lock up, so she swings through the door and bulldozes her way upstairs all the while dragging me along.

"I like black," I say, out of energy to argue with Clare when she looks like she does.

"Convincing, Eli," she says wryly, her mouth twisting in pleasure as she looks back at me. "Do you own anything that isn't black and heavy?" She asks, turning her body towards me when we reach my locked room.

I search my brain for signs of bright colours and lighter fabrics, but I've hidden behind death and destruction for so long that I can't remember.

"I-I don't really know," I answer truthfully.

"Well, let me get a look at this wonderfully diverse wardrobe of yours," she turns back around and grabs the door handle.

"No, no. Clare, I can do it," I grab ahold of her and gently pull her back, remembering how angry I sounded last time she was at my door.

"Is it still overtly messy in there?" She teases, running her fingernails along my chin. I shiver at the touch and revel in the feeling it sends through me.

"Truly, yeah. Wait downstairs, okay?" She nods her head and steps away. Her footsteps disappear and the slight uneasiness I welcomed with her being so close to my locked secrets fades.

When I get the lock off and step inside, I just know finding some clothes that aren't black will be a detriment to my time with Clare. It'll be hours before I find something that's main colour isn't black. But I try. For her.

Searching through all of my old clothes sends shivers of nostalgia down my spine. I think back to when I got most of my current wardrobe. I feel pain and sorrow when I find something Julia bought me, picking the fabrics up quick and holding them to my nose to see if any of her scent still lingers.

It doesn't.

I place the various items she purchased before her passing on my bed, admiring their uniqueness. She chose them more for her benefit than mine. I notice that one of them, bought incredibly ironically for our four month anniversary, has no trace of black.

It's a Doctor Who t-shirt she got me that she bought on a trip to America. The show had just blown up down there and every clothing store just had to get their hands on some merchandise. I've never followed the show, but it's a standoffish red shirt with _Keep Calm and Don't Blink_ written in white very stylistically. Instead of the usual crown adorning the changed World War Two catchphrase, there's some statue of an angel covering its eyes.

I never understood it, but it was special. And is even more special now that she's gone.

Should I wear it? I pick it up and examine it. It smells of must.

**_No!_ **I can't wear it. I can't.

I put it back on the small pile of clothes from Julia and beg my heart to calm down, the sweat to stop spilling from my glands, and my eyes to quit attempting to roll back.

"Eli!" Clare's voice reaches my dimming thoughts.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm looking for something, Clare. No worries," I say, my voice holding the tiniest of shivers. I throw my hands in the drawer and pull everything out. They land on the ground and I examine them quickly.

Aha! One thing from CeCe. Green. V-neck, for some ungodly reason. But it's something. And something is just what I wanted.

I find some leftover deodorant that still smells like the "ocean" and swiftly unbutton my shirt. I carefully slide it off my wounded arm and throw it somewhere on the floor before placing the new, colourful one over my head.

When I step off the last stair, Clare greets my new and improved clothing.

"You look fresh," she says emphatically.

"Mm, only the best for my girl."

I watch her cheeks flame and marvel at her beauty for a moment. She looks down and I capture her face in my hand, bullying her jaw until I capture her eyes with my own gaze. We walk outside, the door closing behind us. I still don't lock it.

"Ready to get that haircut?" She asks.

I'm silent for a moment, her words swirling around my brain like a tornado, gathering thoughts and memories in its dusty cloud, spreading doubt and reining terror on my helpless bones.

"Eli, are you ready?" She questions again, her blue eyes full of something sad. I reach out delicately and touch the corner of her eye nearest her ear. I hear the shivery sigh that escapes her and feel my fingers shake as they grasp her head.

It's like she knows exactly what I need because she immediately pulls me in closer and wraps her arms around my waist. Her hands clasp behind my back and in the shock, I find myself hugging her as well.

Muffled words vibrate through the shirt covering my skin and I look down at her silently. Her head pokes up from against my chest and she repeats her words, "I can do it for you."

It's a whisper, a gentle release of air and voice, but it sends the goosebumps right down my arms regardless. I close my eyes and think. Think about it. Clare sitting behind me, in front of me, to the side, with sharp scissors in her hands, snipping away at the years of shit this face has seen. Taking away all the pressure of nightmares and sliding her fingers through the pain.

"Can I trust you not to kill me? Or at least poke my eye out?" I ask after an undisclosed amount of blissful silence.

She laughs up at me, her red lips spreading apart like the red sea. "Yeah," she says innocently. "I think I can be trusted not to injure your handsome face."

I say nothing else, just close my eyes against her head. She called my face handsome. She thinks I'm handsome.

A warmth creeps up my skin, one that reminds of me of being loved and wanted. It holds me hostage, squeezing at my heart.

"Come on," she insists. "I've seen my mom cut my dad's hair loads of times."

I let out a strangled chortle. "Oh, gosh, Clare. That makes me feel much better. You watched your mom. What if you make me look like some sort of asshole?"

Clare's face ignites in a harsh blush at my words, but I see a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. She shakes her head nervously and bunches my shirt into her fists.

"Do you trust me?" She asks, pulling harder on my shirt and forcing my body to bend. Our noses touch and a tingling starts through me.

I'm almost too tempted to kiss her to reply, but I take in a shaky breath and nod my head. "Of course I trust you. Just maybe not with a pair of scissors poised at my head."

She releases my shirt and whips around, her arms crossing over her chest.

"Fine then, I won't cut it. You can go to the haircutter yourself."

I can't help the laugh that escapes my throat. Clare turns her neck around fast and glares at me, her eyes narrowed in on mine. I blink and tell myself to calm down.

"I'm kidding, Clare. I trust you with my life, please come and cut my hair you wonderful woman."

Slowly, Clare turns back and uncrosses her arms. She still stares daggers at me as she grabs ahold of my shirt and yanks me towards my house. If she weren't so scary right now, I'd probably be a little excited.

The door opens and bangs loudly against the wall and as it swings back, nearly smacking me in the face, I see a small chip of paint lying on the floor. Clare's body moves fast, so fast, and she doesn't bother to stop to close the door. I reach out with my leg and kick it closed, stumbling against the grip Clare Edwards has on me.

She drags me up the stairs and comes to a stop in front of the bathroom door. Her face looks determined and she pushes open the door slowly. Still holding on to me, she shoves me in front of her and slams the door.

I frown. "Did I upset you in some way, Clare?" I ask the door.

"Just shut up and wet your hair for me like a good boy," she calls to me from the other side. "I'll be waiting downstairs. Bring the haircutter scissors that are in there." She sounds very annoyed.

"How do you know there are haircutter scissors in here?"

"Because I talked to your mom one time and she told me she cuts Bullfrog's hair. She's got them in there somewhere. Find them." Her footsteps retreat and I face myself in the mirror. _**Great job, Elijah. You asshole.**_

I walk to the sink and turn on the cold water. It hits my head, my neck, my back, and chills shiver along my bones. My fingers scrub through letting the once straight strands curl and wrap around my hands.

I barely recognise myself with curly hair. It's like I was lying to myself for years about the natural state of my hair.

Clare will look at me like I'm a stranger.

I shake all thoughts of Clare alienating me because of my hair and search for the scissors. They're easy to find in one of the drawers.

_What are you doing, baby? Why the desperate need for change?_

I groan and smack against the mirror once or twice before making my way downstairs.

_**Clare, I'm sorry. **_Just say it.

"Clare?" I call when I enter the kitchen. She's standing by the fridge staring at all the pictures decorating the door. Her fingers glide along one in particular. Me as a young boy, curls atop my head, in mid-air. I don't remember that day, but CeCe says we were at a park and I was having the best day of my life. Sucks I can't recall it.

"You had curly hair," she says softly, caressing picture-me's head.

"Yeah." I say as I come up behind her, wrapping my arms around her shoulders. She leans in to my touch and I think maybe I don't need to apologise.

Water from my hair drips on her face and she blinks rapidly, looking up at me. Her eyes go wide and she pushes off, staring at my hair. Her hand tentatively reaches up to touch it. She just barely clings to a single curl as if she's afraid it'll snap off in her hold.

"I _have_ curly hair. I was kind of into the whole straightening thing. Hated my curly hair," I say finally. She smiles at me, tears shining in her eyes. "No, no," I say quickly, holding onto her wrist and pressing her hand to my cheek. "It's not sad. It's happy. Don't cry."

Wait, no, I liked my curly hair. Julia hated it.

_Are you sure, Eli?_

Yes. I'm sure. I'm sure. I'm sure.

She laughs merrily and smooths a thumb along my cheekbone. I close my eyes at the contact and exhale slowly trying to calm myself down.

"Ugh," she groans and I open my eyes to find her wiping at a stray tear. "I'm not sad. It's just . . . amazing to see you like this. So open and fresh. You have curly hair!" Excitement races through her voice like a roller-coaster.

"Well, are you willing to cut it?" I ask as I swipe away the extra tears that have fallen. **_Stop making her cry!_** A deep and guttural groan wants to get out of my throat but I hold it down.

"It depends," she says twirling curl after curl around her finger. "Are you willing to have it cut?"

Mulling over the thought for just a moment, contemplating everything that's held up in this version of me, I move to press my forehead against Clare's and breathe out, washing her face in my breath. She sucks in like she needs my air to live.

And there's my answer.

"Yes, Clare."

-O-

"All right, young man, what are we looking for today?" Clare asks in a thick and very bad French accent as she twists and twirls the dark strands of my hair.

I laugh at her as a warmth scatters down my spine. I don't know what I want really. Different. I want something different.

I _need_ something different.

"A change. Just a change," I whisper less than confidently. Clare grips my neck with her free hand and kneads a few of the knots out with her thumb. Pressure builds and builds as she releases the tension in my shoulders. Like a reverse massage. Her touch is heated and steady.

Clare flips my hair around some more, examining my scalp. Rain pounds against the house and wind whips the wood making it groan and grumble but I don't hear any of it, I focus solely on Clare's movements. The intensity and purposefulness behind every twitch.

What she's doing right now, getting ready to cut my hair, to change me, to help me, it means everything. It's an intimate gesture, a turning point of passion.

She pulls a comb through the knotted curls and I feel a pinch but it doesn't really hurt. Her gentle fingers thread through the expanse of thick spirals as if they'll disappear any second now.

I hear the snipping of the scissors above the cracks of thunder and I see Clare in the reflection of the glass window in the kitchen through the flashes of lightning. She lights up in those moments, each tentative cut of hair and every time the lightning glows.

My mind goes numb as she chops away the despair. With each slice of the scissors, the weight on my chest seemingly dissipates.

Clare suddenly sets down the scissors and glides her fingers through my hair, shagging it out and giggling as it curls around and around. She pulls at it, checking for any deformity.

"I think I could get used to this," she says carefully as her cold, wet hands meet my neck. I shiver against the dirty thoughts of Clare pulling at my curls in different scenarios as they make their way into my brain.

The girl above me moves her fingers to my jaw and tilts my head back. Her pinkies stay at my jaw while her thumbs dust over my cheeks and her fingers smooth along my lips. For a moment, she just stares at me and I just stare at her, watching her blue eyes as they scatter around my face. I want to say those words now, the ones that would really change the game, but before I can even open my mouth, her lips touch mine. It's a sweet and innocent kiss, but it's enough to make my head spin. To make me wish she wouldn't pull away.

"I like it," Clare says as she releases me. "Have I ever told you I've got a thing for guys with curly hair?"

I choke on my saliva and cough, my face turning every shade of red known to man and more. "What?" I wheeze.

"I'm kidding. Well, I have a thing for you and you have curly hair." She slides her thumb once more along my cheek and turns away.

I ask where she's going and she turns around winking. Something clutters in the next room and I get up, shrugging the towel off of me and stepping in the heaps of my hair that sprinkle the floor. I take a moment to stomp on them in anger and then go to see what Clare's doing.

She stands in the living room hands clasped behind her back and an innocent smile on her lips.

"What are you doing?" I ask as I approach. She thrusts something at me, my hands struggling to hold on.

It's a mirror. I know because I'm looking at myself in it.

I can't think straight. What was once a mop of long, straight, and very dark hair is now loosely curled, reaching mid-ear on both sides, and kind of frizzy.

"You need mousse or something," I hear Clare say as she starts up fiddling with my new hair.

"Yeah, no." I tell her, still vainly captivated by my reflection.

"Come on, if you can straighten it, you can put product in it," she argues, yanking the mirror away from me. I reach out but she pulls it away.

I smirk, "Clare, I'm five inches taller than you."

"So, come and get it." A wild glimmer passes over her eyes and she starts to run.

I mumble something unintelligible but chase her just the same. She moves quick around the furniture, teasing me with every fiber of her being. I advance slow, taking my time to maneuver around her and when we've stared at each other for minutes, just waiting for the other to do something, I pounce and grab at her. She trips and stumbles over something and somehow I land on my back with Clare Edwards on top of me.

Pain spreads from my shoulder as I stare up at Clare, her face pale and her cheeks pink. A sly smile has replaced her innocence.

Just as I'm about to do something stupid like kiss her, a knock pounds against the front door.

"Elijah Goldsworthy let me in! It's raining cats and dogs out here!"

"Shit, I forgot it's Guys Night."

Clare fumbles off of me and staggers upright, offering me a hand. I take it and shake away the want that electrocutes me at our touch.

I run a hand through my hair, freaking out for only a moment that it's not there, and make my way to the door, leaving Clare standing in the living room awkwardly.

I grip the knob and turn to Clare. She nods her head, telling me it's okay, allowing me to ruin our moment. The door swings open and Adam's fisted hand reaches out. He nearly tumbles down when his hand doesn't connect with the door and I hold out a hand to steady him. Adam takes it and looks at me finally, his eyes flicking behind me.

"Well, if it isn't the famous EClare," Adam says, letting go of me and barging past into my house. He kicks his shoes off and turns back to face me. "Whoa, is that even you?" He asks.

"No, it's my evil, better looking twin."

"What the hell happened to your dark, luscious locks? Your guyliner? You look completely different." He reaches up and starts teasing my hair.

I frown. Something tugs at my hand and I see Clare standing just behind me watching Adam. I slide my fingers between hers and squeeze.

"I needed a change," I say in response to his question.

"Ah, I understand," Adam says, still captivated by my head.

"EClare, Adam?" I ask when he backs away. I look at Clare and see she's smiling goofily.

"You like it? I was racking my brain for hours on end when you guys announced you were dating, trying to come up with some fancy name for you two. You know, like all the stars have? BrAngelina and all that shit," Adam is enjoying this way too much. "And then it came to me. Wham!" Clare jumps at Adam's exhilaration. "EClare. A delicious treat and also my two best friends name's combined. ClEli didn't sound as good." He frowns and I laugh, smacking him on the back.

"I should probably get going," Clare says behind us. We both turn around. "I told my mom I'd be getting back around now."

Her face has fallen. I turn towards her slowly, abandoning Adam and his lame attempts at nicknaming mine and Clare's relationship.

"Wait! It's raining!" I exclaim, grabbing her arm as she heads for the door.

"I love the rain," she sighs sadly. "You do look really good, Elijah. I like it a lot," she leans in to kiss my cheek, probably aware of Adam's presence.

I'm not as scared of PDA, though, so I twist my head a little and capture her lips in the smallest peck possible. A heat spreads through me at the contact of flesh and my heart thrums behind my ribs.

"Right. Goodbye," she whispers to me, that blush already deepening. "Bye, Adam! Have fun at Guys Night."

She begins to walk away, opening the door and swaying with the wind. I want to call out to her again, tell her it's stupid to walk in the rain when she can have someone come and collect her. She's too far gone by the time I can move my mouth, though.

"Bye, Clare!" Adam calls. "Dude, you guys are disgusting together."

I shove him into the living room. "You're just jealous. And besides, I'm not the one who came up with EClare. That was all you."

"Yeah, yeah," Adam says sluggishly as he sits down on the sofa. I go to my video game collection and start rummaging through. "But that is a pretty clever nickname."

I smirk, "I suppose so," I turn towards him, holding a handful of games. "So, what do you wanna play?"

-O-

"Dude, I'm crushing you! What the hell, you said you were good at this game!"

Adam and I are currently sprawled across my living room floor. Crisp crumbs litter the floor and someone spilled their soda a little while ago.

"I thought I was!" I yell just as I break away from 12th place. "Ha! Take that, loser."

"You need to work on your gloating skills. You're still in 11th place."

"So what?"

"Out of 12, Eli. 11 out of 12. I'm in 1st place," I can't see him, but I bet he's smiling.

"Yeah, well, you're an asshole," I say as we round the last corner on the final lap of our millionth race.

"Woohoo! And the winner, once again, is Adam Torres. Go me, go me, go me!" Adam stands up and begins to twist his body in the weirdest victory dance I've ever seen. I throw my controller at him and it bounces off his chest. "Shit, dude, that hurt."

"I didn't throw it very hard," I say defensively.

"Yeah, well, not most guys have subcutaneous fat covering their pecks."

My mouth goes silent as I try to process what he's talking about.

"Ah," I say when it clicks. "Sorry."

Adam's never really discussed his female body type around me and I'm not entirely sure how to go around the subject.

"It's okay. Just, don't throw things at my chest," he's smiling, but I see some form of unhappiness behind his eyes.

"You can talk to me, you know, Adam. I may not be the best person to give you advice, but I understand the troubles of being different and being bullied for it."

"Yeah," he says quietly. Of course, I don't really know anything about what he's going through except the snippets he's shared, but I'm his friend. If he needs me, I can help. "How are you doing?" Adam asks after a moment of silence.

"I'm okay, I think," I say, thinking about how everything sounds different with this hair.

"You can talk to me too, Eli. We're friends going through shitty times. We need each other."

I nod, "Yeah, man. I know. It's difficult to talk about, though. I've been going in and out of feeling good since Julia died and now with this thing haunting me, I just don't know what to do."

"You always seem to be smiling when Clare's around. Or when you hear her name, like just now," his sly smile jolts realisation through me and I notice how I straightened my posture when he mentioned Clare.

"That's not good, though, is it?" I ask. Adam looks confused. "To, you know, always be better with her."

"Right, yeah. No. Actually. Just, know that it's okay to be better with her. Better is good. But be sure it doesn't turn into you _only_ being _good_ when you're with her. Being strong on your own is something that may take some time, but it needs to happen."

"Yeah," I say dismissively. I don't want to talk about this anymore. Adam seems to understand because he returns to finding another race track for us play.

"Are you doing okay, Eli?" He asks suddenly, turning his head away from the screen. There's a look in his eyes, one that is reserved for those who care about another person's well being.

"What do you want to know, Adam?" I ask, refusing to meet his attentive gaze. His stare bears into me like hot coals pressing against flesh, seizing my skin with its tenacity.

"How you are."

I pause for a moment, chancing a look at him. He's standing above me, the remote in his hands. I feel an undercurrent of anxiety thrum through me. I want to scream out how unhappy I am. How utterly useless I feel and how torn I truly am.

How broken everything has become.

But I shake my head and smile at him, knowing I cannot be honest. I must protect them from me. "I'm doing great, buddy. Just great."

"I don't believe you," he says shortly, almost defiantly. Like he's daring me to tell him the truth, pestering me with the ripples of his words. They press to my throat like the stinging edge of a knife.

"Well, believe me."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you're not telling me the truth."

"I am, Adam."

"You're not, Eli. Just tell me what's happening. What's going on in that repressed, poetic mind of yours?" He's getting frustrated. I see the quiver of a vein jutting from his forehead.

"Nothing's going on in there. Just a bunch of babble about why my best friend is refusing to let us play video games," I wearily rub my face, squeezing at my eyes.

"Be real with me, man. I'm trying to help."

I snap.

"Stop TRYING!" I yell.

The sound bounces off the walls at odd angles, shooting through me and my guest violently like an earthquake.

"Why?" He asks helplessly, dropping the controller on the ground.

"Because I don't need help. What I need is Fitz gone for good instead of fucking hiding in the shadows like a fucking coward. Adam, stop worrying about me. I'm okay," I say dully.

Adam nods his head and silently goes back to finding a racetrack.

"You're scared," he says as an ending to the conversation. His voice sounds final but also holds hints of the future. It's as if he's warning me that this will come up again.

He's screaming it at me, the thing my brain already knows: my fragile security is time stamped.

-O-

Adam left. His eyes were untrusting as he abandoned me. Bullfrog and CeCe returned soon after Adam took off.

They freaked out when they saw me. Mom peppered my faces with kisses, ruffling my hair every which way. Dad just stared at me blankly, eventually smiling and coming to hug me.

It's as if they're scared of me somehow. Like they're waiting for me to crumble in front of them. I read somewhere that getting a haircut after a traumatic experience is a trigger. It's telling the world that I'm unstable enough to go out and change dramatically.

I mean, I'm wearing a green v-necked tee-shirt for crying out loud. Are these secret cries for help? Does my brain know something that I don't?

"Elijah, we need to talk."

It's mom's small voice. She's holding onto dad and they're both watching me with mirroring expressions of concern.

"What about?" I ask, acutely aware of where this conversation is going.

"You," they say at the same time. People are having a field day with me today.

"I'm okay, guys. You don't need to look so worried."

"Well, we're your parents. It's our job to worry about you," she begins to walk towards the living room, taking a seat on the sofa. Dad follows her, but I stay in the kitchen, my arms folded across my chest.

"Since when?" I ask bitterly. The look on mom's face; she looks hurt. I frown and smack my head. "Sorry, Mom, that wasn't fair."

I say the words, but I don't really believe them. It's okay to worry about me right after I get stabbed, but my girlfriend dies in a tragic and untimely way and they don't give a shit about me.

"Elijah, I need you to come over here."

I notice something unusual about her. She isn't donning the mass amounts of makeup she usually does. Her face is pale and her eyes are tired, bags of heavy sleep sit underneath her lower lashes giving her a look of the walking dead.

I comply and walk wearily into the living room. I remain standing.

"I need you to hear us out, okay?" Dad says quietly.

Everyone needs everything from me. They _need _it.

"Yeah, sure," I reply dismissively. I sigh and wait for the big news.

"Therapy," Mom whispers, her words floating towards me like grenades, exploding in my face once their pins are pulled. I shake my head before she even begins explaining. "Eli, listen to us," she begs.

"No, no. I am not going," I walk a few steps but Bullfrog's hand on my shoulder ceases my movements. "What?" I growl.

"Why not, son?" He asks.

"Because I'm not some guinea pig a guy in a suit can ween money off of. I don't need someone telling me what I already know."

"What do you already know?" Mom calls from her spot.

"That I'm fucked up. I already know!" I throw my hands up defensively. Mom gasps at my language. "Mom, I can't go. I don't want to relive these things anymore. Please, don't make me go."

"Son, you should think about it," Dad still has his hands on me, his voice transforming into a warning.

"Bullfrog, let him go. He can make his own decisions," Mom looks at me longingly, but the minute I meet her gaze, she turns her face away.

"Thank you," I say bitterly, holding my dad's hand on my shoulder and squeezing. He doesn't respond, but his eyes light up a little bit before I let go and walk upstairs to my own personal hellfire.

It's stuffy and I'm overwhelmed by the stench of memories when I enter. I stare at my bed for some time, letting the grief swallow me.

They want me to go to therapy. They need me to go to therapy, to get better. And I can't do it. I can't indulge their needs.

* * *

**A/N 2: **Poor Eli. . .

I'll try and update the next chapter a little sooner than this one because of the rough cut off point, but I do hope you enjoyed! If you wanna tell me all about how you felt, don't be afraid. I do not bite. Thanks so much to all of you, you are all wonderful people.

"LGA" is a great song, I thought it kind of fit because it's about love and the confusing nature of "what the hell actually is love?". Check it out if you did not do so before the chapter. Anyways, I must be off. Big day tomorrow.

Until next time (whenever that may be),

(insert name here)


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